An Adventure Of Their Own
by Sherlolly-221B
Summary: Sherlock often read about adventures in storybooks, and he loved to go on his own little adventures. When he meets Molly Hooper, a shy girl from down the road, she takes him on a whole new adventure, one he has never experienced before - the adventure of friendship and love... Kidlock/teenlock Sherlolly, exploring their relationship as they grow older.
1. The Girl with the Ponytail

**Hello everyone! I decided to write a kidlock Sherlolly fic, but I won't give you any spoilers as to what it's going to be about. The pic for this story is just a random picture I had uploaded. I couldn't be bothered to wait for another to upload. I might draw one, or ask someone to draw one because I am a terrible drawer. Sorry about the lame title.**

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Raindrops streamed down the window, each one taking its own unique path. The sky was dark with a blanket of grey clouds which floated in the air like a thick layer of smoke. The weather had remained unchanged for days. It was as if the sun was refusing to come out – like it had gone into hibernation. The heavy rain added to the sombre mood which seemed to linger all around.

As he traced the water on the glass, Sherlock began to wonder if the downpour would ever end. He longed to go outside and play in the large garden at the back of the great manor house that he lived in. The Holmes estate was a beautiful place. In the summer, the grass was a lush green and all different varieties of flowers were in bloom, including violets, which were his mother's namesake. Sherlock loved to watch the bees dance around the garden, travelling from flower to flower on their own little mission to pollinate. The summer always seemed perfect.

But right now, in the middle of a cold, stormy autumn, the garden seemed desolate and lifeless compared to the bright colours of summer. The only hint of colour was the layer of orange and brown leaves lining the ground. There were no bees and no flowers for them to pollinate. The grass was covered in sodden leaves and almost all of the trees were bare.

Sherlock let out an unhappy sigh and rested his head on the windowpane. He was bored out of his mind. He had tried reading, experimenting and playing his violin, but none of these activities made him feel any less miserable. The only thing he could do now was wait for his brother to return home.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes the rain had finally stopped and Mycroft was seated at the long oak table on the opposite side of the room, reading what appeared to be one of his tedious history texts. Sherlock didn't know how he could read such boring things and remain sane.

"When did you get back?" he asked, looking at his brother with confusion.

"About an hour ago," replied Mycroft, turning to the next page of his book.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sherlock questioned.

"You were fast asleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

The eight-year-old pouted irritably and jumped down off the windowsill. His head was cold from leaning against the glass.

"Where have you been all this time?" he queried.

"I was helping Father with something."

Sherlock grunted, as helping Father was one of the most arduous things he could imagine. His father was a very serious man, with lots of rules and restrictions that he put in place around the house, all of which had consequences if you broke them. He had a stern kind of face, with prominent cheekbones, an eagle-like nose and striking red hair. Sherlock was extremely glad that he had inherited his mother's dark curls. Because of the reddish hue in his brother's hair, he often referred to Mycroft as 'ginger', which wasn't strictly speaking true. However, it was always amusing to watch the look of annoyance on his face whenever the word was mentioned.

"What were you helping him with?"

Mycroft looked up at his little brother with a frustrated expression.

"Sherlock, stop asking questions."

"Why?"

The younger boy smiled mischievously and Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sherlock…" he said slowly, "I'm losing my patience."

There was a pause, and then Sherlock asked: "Why?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. He cleared his throat. "For goodness sake, I'm trying to read."

He half expected his brother to ask the question a third time, but instead he scowled moodily and walked out of the room. Sherlock wished there was someone to talk to who wasn't his brother.

* * *

Since the rain had stopped, Sherlock decided to play outside, even though the ground below his feet was damp and made squelching noises as he walked over it. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he walked over towards the large sycamore tree at the back of the garden. He probably should have worn something warmer than shorts and a shirt, but at least his Wellington boots would keep his feet dry.

He used all his strength to heave himself up onto the first branch, careful not to stumble on the wet bark. This tree was perfect for climbing, as one of the branches had bent over time until it was almost touching the floor. This meant it was easy for Sherlock to lift himself up and clamber onto the next branch up. He continued climbing until he reached the very top of the tree. From here he could see the entire garden. It seemed to stretch for miles. All of a sudden the garden didn't seem so barren anymore.

Sherlock felt powerful at the top of his tree. Up here he was taller than Mycroft, and Mother, and all of the annoyingly stupid children in his class at school. He was even taller than Father, which was a big achievement, because Siger Holmes seemed like a giant compared to Sherlock.

Eventually he came down from the tree and ran back indoors, through the hallway and out of the front door. He heard Mycroft shout something about running inside the house, but decided to ignore him. His brother was driving him mad today.

Sherlock found himself running down the road, away from Holmes manor, which is something he was never allowed to do under any circumstances, unless he was supervised. He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through him. Running away by himself would result in a good telling off from Mother and probably a slap from Father, but right now Sherlock felt unstoppable. He kept sprinting in no particular direction, simply enjoying the thrill of running against the wind.

After a while he started to grow tired of the experience and decided that he wanted to go home. However, after looking around the unfamiliar streets, he realised that he was completely lost. A car horn sounded and he leapt back onto the pavement just in time for it to pass without causing him any damage. He felt tears start to run down his cheeks and all of a sudden it started raining again. He would surely freeze out here if he didn't get indoors soon.

A soft hand gently touched his shoulder and he turned with a start, prepared to defend himself from whoever was behind him. It turned out to be a small girl who couldn't have been much younger than himself. Her chocolate hair was tied up into a ponytail and she had the most radiant brown eyes. Sherlock felt a bit relieved, but he was still utterly terrified of being alone.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked him in a shy voice.

"I'm lost," he told her, wiping his eyes and attempting to appear braver than he actually was, "And it's freezing." He rubbed his bare arms and his teeth started to chatter.

"You should have wrapped up warm like me," she said, although she didn't look much warmer in her pleated skirt and cardigan, "Come with me. I live just down the road."

She offered out a hand and Sherlock accepted, smiling gratefully. They walked down the pavement together, hand in hand, close enough that Sherlock could feel her body heat beside him. They tried to keep under the shelter of the trees beside them, although most of them had lost their leaves.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Molly. Molly Hooper." she replied.

"I'm Sherlock."

"That's a funny name," Molly let out a nervous giggle, "I've never heard of anyone called _that_ before."

"I've never met anyone called Molly before." Sherlock admitted, although he had heard the name in a couple of the storybooks that he had read.

"What are you doing out in the rain?" inquired Molly.

"What are _you_ doing out in the rain?" asked Sherlock.

"I was looking for my cat. I didn't want her to get cold."

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He reckoned he liked cats.

"Don't your parents mind?" he questioned.

"I don't live with my parents." Molly informed him.

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "You don't live with your parents? Why? Did they send you away?"

"I don't want to talk about it." said Molly, looking awfully sad. Sherlock nodded, but he didn't understand.

"Who do you live with, then?" he asked.

"My grandmother. I've been living with her since last year."

"I never met my grandmother," Sherlock told her, "She died before I was born."

"Anyway," Molly continued, ignoring his previous comment, "What are you doing out in the rain?"

"I was adventuring." said Sherlock proudly.

Molly stopped in her tracks, let go of his hand and looked up at him.

"Adventuring?"

"Yes, adventuring." Sherlock repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't think that's a word." Molly said.

"Yes it is." the curly-haired boy insisted, as he knew for a fact that it was.

"Why were you adventuring?"

"Because I am a pirate."

Molly gave him a funny look, but soon started laughing.

They both continued down the road. Sherlock wanted her to take his hand again, but he didn't make a point of saying anything. The journey was relatively short and they managed to keep fairly dry. Sherlock looked down at the floor, noticing Molly's brown leather shoes. They were covered in scuff marks, so she must wear them a lot, he deduced. She didn't seem to be one of those typical girls who like pink and ponies and all of those other silly things. Sherlock quite enjoyed her company.

"We're here." Molly said, as they reached a quaint, country cottage with ivy running up the walls. The building was made of stone and had a thatched roof. It was a lot smaller than the large Holmes estate that Sherlock was used to, which he told Molly.

"It's bigger on the inside." she replied. He didn't understand how this could be true, but took her word for it. "Shall we go inside?" Molly asked. Sherlock nodded and she knocked on the front door a couple of times. They waited together for it to open, and Sherlock found himself smiling at his new friend.

* * *

**Well, what did you think? I've wanted to do kidlock for some time, and I love Sherlolly, so this happened. I shall continue if enough people like it. Unlike my other fics, this will be extremely fluffy with a few angsty elements. Please tell me what you think!**

**Hev :) xx**


	2. Inside Her House

**Hello folks! This is chapter two of my fluffy kidlock adventure!**

**Thanks to these people who gave me a review:**

_**Susieqsis, NaniiLovegood, Potix, Frostybutt, Rocking the Redhead **_**and**_** Magicstrikes.**_

**Your reviews are much appreciated! Because you want me to, I am continuing!**

**So here goes:**

* * *

The door flung open suddenly, making Sherlock and Molly jump. In the doorway stood an elderly woman with her silver hair tied up into a scruffy bun. She had the same brown eyes as Molly, as well as a petite mouth. Sherlock could definitely see the resemblance between the two of them. The woman was dressed in a floral dress down to her knees with a white apron over the top, although she hadn't bothered to tie the apron at the back. She was wearing fluffy slippers which looked too big on her tiny feet.

"Oh, Molly, love. Come inside quickly. You'll catch a cold out here." she said quickly, ushering the two children through the door. Her voice was soft and Sherlock instantly felt like he could trust her.

Once they were inside the house, Sherlock found that it was nothing like how he had imagined. Molly's home was the exact opposite of his own manor house, not just in terms of size, but also because of the decoration. There was a distinctly old-fashioned feel around the houses. The walls were painted a pale yellow and they were covered in photographs, each in its own unique frame. The floor was made of wood and contained lots of small cracks. The smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air and made Sherlock feel ever so hungry.

"I was wondering where you'd got to," the old lady continued, walking into the kitchen. She hadn't seemed to notice that Sherlock was there. "I found that cat of yours."

"Really?" asked Molly, sounding delighted and baffled at the same time, "Where was she?"

"Hiding in your wardrobe of all places." her grandmother replied with a chuckle.

Molly laughed too and Sherlock was left standing rather awkwardly by the front door.

"Maybe I should leave…" he said, beginning to turn around.

"Oh, no, you stay her for a bit," responded Molly's grandmother, "Just until the rain stops, and then we'll run you home. You're absolutely drenched." She grabbed a tea towel from the kitchen and made her way over to him. She started to dry his hair, rubbing vigorously. Sherlock shrunk away and grimaced. He was starting to think that maybe Molly's grandmother was a bit mad. She used a tea towel to dry his hair, after all.

"What's your name, dear?" she asked him, smiling politely.

Sherlock tried his best to smile back in a friendly way. "I'm Sherlock." he told her. Molly giggled for no apparent reason.

"Well, _Sherlock_," she put a slight exaggeration on his unusual name, "Make yourself at home. Go upstairs if you like."

"Where should I put my shoes?"

"Oh, just keep them on, it'll be fine."

Sherlock gave her a confused look. "But… They're covered in mud."

"Like I said: it's fine."

The boy nodded, although he couldn't quite believe that this woman, who he had only just met, was letting him keep his shoes on, not only inside the house, but _upstairs _as well.

"Will your housekeeper clean the carpet?" Sherlock whispered to Molly as they walked up the creaky stairs.

"We don't have a housekeeper." Molly informed him.

"You don't have a housekeeper? Who does the cleaning and the washing and the cooking?"

"Me and my grandma, of course."

Sherlock didn't understand how that was an obvious thing. He was so used to having a housekeeper that he found the notion completely absurd. Why would you want to clean things _yourself_ if someone else could do it for you?

"My bedroom's through there." Molly said once their ascent was over. She pointed to a wooden door on the left side of the landing, which had her name painted on in white with intricate painted purple flowers surrounding it.

"I like your door." told Sherlock.

"Thank you." Molly said, giggling, and then she walked over and opened it.

As soon as she did, a pale grey cat with a bushy tail and a little pink nose came bounding out and ran straight to Molly, who picked her up and held her close to her chest.

"I was worried about you, Tilly." the girl sighed, stroking the cat behind her ears.

"She's called Tilly?" Sherlock inquired.

"It's short for Matilda." Molly told him. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her with a puzzled expression. "You know, after the book."

"I don't think I've read it."

"Oh, you have to! It's one of my favourite stories ever. The funny thing is, the girl – Matilda – is a little bit like me, which is why I like her so much, I suppose." She seemed very enthusiastic about this book, which Sherlock had never heard of.

"You like reading, then?" he asked.

"Goodness yes," Molly replied, "It's the best thing in the whole world."

"I like reading too," said Sherlock with a smile, "Treasure Island is my favourite."

"Because you're a pirate."

Before Sherlock had a chance to respond, Molly put Matilda down and gestured for Sherlock to enter her room. He did so reluctantly – he had never been in a girl's bedroom before. He wasn't sure what to expect.

It turned out that Molly's bedroom was extremely cluttered. There was a large bookshelf along the back wall, which seemed to be overflowing with all kinds of books, some of which Sherlock recognised. The curtains were a rich shade of purple and the walls were lavender coloured. The bed was covered in what seemed to be hundreds of soft toys, but most of them were cats. The room had a very musky smell, with hints of vanilla.

"It's a lovely room," Sherlock said, and Matilda meowed in agreement, "A bit small, though."

"Small?" Molly sounded incredulous, "It's the biggest bedroom in the house."

"My room is _a lot_ bigger, and it's the _smallest_ bedroom in my house." told Sherlock.

Molly went over and sat on the bed, and Matilda jumped up beside her. She seemed to blend in with all of the other toys. Sherlock wondered if they would all suddenly come to life, although he knew that was a ridiculous thought. Father would be cross with him for being so childish, but then Father couldn't read his mind. Mycroft would probably laugh at him.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Sherlock asked when he thought of Mycroft.

"None at all." answered Molly, sighing.

"_I've_ got a big brother. Myc. He's _horrible_."

Molly laughed. "Is Mike short for Michael?"

"No, _Myc_. M-y-c. It's short for Mycroft."

"That's a weirder name than yours!" There was a pause for a moment. "I wish I had a big brother."

"I wish I _didn't_. You can have him if you like." Sherlock wasn't entirely sure he was allowed to give his brother away, but he wasn't going to take his offer back in a hurry.

Molly's grandmother called to them from downstairs.

"We better go down." said Molly, leading the way out again. They got to the bottom of the stairs where the woman was waiting. "Yes, Grandma?"

"The rain has stopped now, so you can go now… _Sherlock_." She still didn't seem used to saying it, "Molly and I will take you home."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Mrs… Mrs Hooper," He felt proud of himself for remembering the name, "I can find my own way back."

"You said you were lost." Molly reminded him.

"I'm not letting you go by yourself," insisted her grandmother, "Tell me your address and we'll walk you over there."

"Don't you have a car?" Sherlock asked, because he was fed up of walking. She shook her head. "Alright then," he sighed, "It's Holmes Manor. It's very big so you won't miss it. Would it be alright if you just dropped me off at the front gate?"

Mrs Hooper nodded, although she didn't seem so sure.

"Would you like a piece of bread before you leave?" she questioned.

Sherlock beamed at her. His stomach was growling at him, demanding food. "Yes please."

The woman brought two slices of bread from the kitchen and gave one to each of the children. Sherlock savoured every mouthful. The bread was still warm and seemed to melt in his mouth. There seemed to be a hint of honey, one of Sherlock's favourite flavours. It was heavenly.

* * *

Sherlock was left feeling a little disappointed, as his trip to Molly's house wasn't a very long one. As they approached the tall iron gate surrounding Holmes Manor, he started to feel upset about being on his own again. He desperately wanted to invite Molly inside, but he knew for certain that his parents wouldn't approve, especially his father. Mycroft would tease him for bringing a girl home with him, and Sherlock didn't want that.

"You'll have to come back to my house some time." Molly told him.

"I'd like that," he replied, smiling, "I would invite you to mine, but my parents wouldn't let me."

"Your house is _huge_," Molly said, looking up at the grand manor house, "Do you ever get lost?"

"It's not _that_ big. I know all of the rooms and I've been living here since I was a baby so it's easy for me." Sherlock paused. "I'll have to go in now."

Molly looked over her shoulder at her grandma, who gave her a kind smile.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." the mousey girl said. She bit her lip, pondering over what to do, and then stood on her tiptoes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. He felt his mouth form a smile. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too." Sherlock returned, nodding curtly. He wondered whether to kiss her back, but she was gone before he had a chance.

* * *

**Thoughts? I like to know what you think so I can get more ideas and advice and whatnot.**

**The next chapter is probably going to be more sibling bonding, with an angry Mycroft at the start. He'll calm down eventually and start questioning him, methinks. I have decided that Mycroft will be a big part of this story.**

**Thanks for reading folks!**

**Hev xxx**


	3. Father and Mother and Mycroft

**No Molly in this chapter (although her name is mentioned) just the Holmes family, especially Sherlock and Mycroft. This was supposed to be fluffy but suddenly it's all angsty. I couldn't resist. More fluff next time because I feel bad about the angst.**

**Thanks to everyone from last time who reviewed (and some of which reviewed again, which makes me happy) and also thanks to xXxCookiexXx and  
Hot4Neville, AND a guest user. The guest and xXxCookiexXx noticed the doctor who reference! Lol. Also, I thought that your comment, xXxCookiexXx, was lovely and I would like to give an extra special thank you for that.**

**Love all you folks and hope you enjoy this!**

**(TW: mild violence)**

* * *

Sherlock gulped as he reached the front door. He knew he was going to be in big trouble. The one relief was his father was still out – his car was missing from the driveway. Hopefully nobody would tell him, or Sherlock would be for it. He knocked tentatively on the door, worrying about what his mother would think of him. He hated in when she was disappointed in her. It was worse than being shouted at.

The door burst open and Sherlock looked up to see his brother. He swallowed hard. The look on Mycroft's face was positively terrifying.

"Where have you been?" he roared, seizing Sherlock by his wet sleeve and pulling him inside the house.

"Ow! Mycroft! You're hurting me!" the boy wailed.

Mycroft let go and Sherlock fell to the floor with a thud. "Mummy is crying her eyes out because of _you_ and your stupid games!"

"It wasn't a game!" Sherlock shouted back, a tear rolling down his cheek as he rubbed the sore patch on his arm where Mycroft had grabbed him, "I was adventuring."

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second and rubbed the side of his face with his hand. "Sherlock," he continued, in a much calmer tone, "Adventuring _is_ a game. When are you going to let go of this… This pirate fantasy?" He let out a sigh. "Mummy's waiting in the living room. Go and apologise to her."

"Apologise? What have _I_ got to apologise for?"

"For running away!" Mycroft bellowed, "That's what. Go and tell her you're sorry."

"I'm not sorry!" yelled Sherlock, his throat dry, "Why should I be sorry for having fun?"

"_Go and apologise to Mother_." hissed Mycroft, articulating every word.

Sherlock could see that look on his face – the same look Father always had when he was cross – and so he reluctantly obeyed.

Once he had apologised to his mother, Sherlock marched up the stairs with his arms folded tight across his chest like he was defending himself. He couldn't help but pout as he walked down the landing. He didn't understand. Going on adventure wasn't a bad thing. Of course, he knew his family would be worried, and he felt bad because of it. However, he didn't know why everyone thought it was a just a game. It was more than that. Adventuring had a purpose – to discover great things.

Sherlock decided he must be an excellent adventurer because he had discovered Molly.

He went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He collapsed onto the floor with a sigh and leaned against the wall, putting his head in his hands and sticking his lower lip out in an irritable way.

"It's not fair." he murmured to himself.

There was a quiet knock at the door to which Sherlock responded with a sullen: "Go away."

The door opened regardless and Mycroft entered. He took a seat beside his brother and sighed.

"Sherlock," he began, "I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier."

"No you're not." Sherlock replied quickly.

"Yes I _am_," continued Mycroft, "I shouldn't have raised my voice. I shouldn't have grabbed your arm. I should have dealt with it calmly and sensibly. You're only a child, after all."

"I'm not a child," countered the younger sibling, "I'm eight."

Mycroft let out a laugh. "Exactly."

"Well… Well, I'm cleverer than most children," Sherlock explained, "So that makes me less of a child."

"Sherlock, it has nothing to do with your intelligence. It's about your maturity. You have to stop playing these ludicrous games."

"They aren't ludicrous!" Sherlock snapped, and then added in a quiet, bitter voice: "And they're not games."

"They _are_ games, Sherlock."

"No they're not!"

"They're not real!"

"They're real to me!"

Sherlock stood up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that he startled _himself_. He ran down the corridor and went to the only place where he felt truly alone – the bathroom. He locked the door to make sure nobody would come in and sat on the edge of the polished porcelain bathtub.

"Sherlock…"

He heard Mycroft's voice from out on the landing, but he didn't respond.

"Sherlock open the door."

He still didn't say anything.

"Sherlock, please."

Silence.

"Alright, if you won't let me in, at least listen to what I have to say."

Sherlock shook his head, even though he knew his brother couldn't see him.

There was a sigh from outside the door and then everything went quiet. A minute passed. Sherlock unlocked the door and pushed it open slightly. Mycroft was no longer there.

Sherlock stayed in his bedroom until dinner, when he was forced to come downstairs and have a meal with the family, even if he didn't want to. Father was home now. Luckily no-one had told him about the incident earlier. Sherlock wished Molly was here. His new friend was intriguing, kind and strangely endearing. There was something about her that made him smile. They had only met for a few minutes, but that was irrelevant. They seemed to be best friends already. Even their short encounter was enough to assure Sherlock that he had made a friend for life.

He didn't really have any other friends. He supposed he could count Mycroft, but then he was his brother, _and_ he was seven years senior. It was difficult to understand what went on in the mind of a fifteen-year-old, and similarly Mycroft never seemed to want to do the things that Sherlock did, like adventuring or playing pirates. Sometimes Mycroft would play with him – when he was in a _really_ good mood or Sherlock was upset – but he spent the majority of his time reading. Sherlock loved reading, but the only things he liked to read were adventure and fantasy books, and sometimes the occasional science text. He knew that the characters and settings in storybooks were made up – he wasn't stupid, after all. It was always the plot that appealed to him – the adventure.

Maybe Molly and him could go on their own adventure one day? He reckoned he would enjoy that very much.

The evening meal was served already when Sherlock arrived at the dining room. On everyone's plate was a large piece of steak with a leathery texture, that made Sherlock feel a bit sick. Thankfully he had to get his own portions of potatoes and peas. He didn't know how he was going to eat it all, and he certainly didn't want to.

Once the family were seated, Siger poured gravy onto his steak, Violet added peas and Mycroft put several roast potatoes onto the side of his plate. Sherlock sat there, rocking on his chair and staring at the meat.

"Don't do that, Sherlock," ordered his mother. She put the bowl of peas down again. "Children, have some vegetables."

Mycroft did as he was told and took some peas. Sherlock pulled a face and folded his arms.

"I hate peas." he complained.

"Do as your mother says, boy." said Father, his voice rather loud for the dinner table. Sherlock noticed the glass of whiskey beside his father's plate. He hated it when he got drunk, and he hoped that he wouldn't drink too much tonight. His father was strict most of the time, but after a few glasses of alcohol he became so short-tempered that on most occasions Sherlock would have to retreat to his room to avoid being shouted at or worse.

Sherlock put some peas onto his plate, pouting as he did so. He couldn't stand greens.

Mycroft tucked into his food, savouring every mouthful. Sherlock could have laughed. His brother had always loved food. It amused the young boy to watch him eat. Mycroft seemed to find eating a delightful experience, whereas Sherlock found it boring. Unless it was a truly scrumptious food, like Mrs Hooper's homemade honey bread, which he remembered fondly.

He tried to cut his steak into smaller pieces, but this seemed to be an impossible task. It was firm and hard to cut. Sherlock had to practically saw through it with his knife. His tongue stuck out slightly as he concentrated hard. He managed to cut one chunk of steak, and then he put his cutlery down and gave his hand a shake, because it was very sore from trying to cut the meat. He looked up and found that everyone was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, placing the steak into his mouth. It took a lot of effort to chew.

Violet put her knife and fork down. "Sherlock, don't talk with your mouthful."

"I wasn't." replied Sherlock, still chewing on the steak.

"You're doing it again."

The boy shrugged his shoulders and stopped talking.

Mycroft leaned over the table slightly and whispered to his younger brother: "Are you alright now?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I really _am_ sorry," Mycroft continued in a hushed voice, "It was unkind for me to shout."

"What's this about, Mycroft?" Siger asked. He took another swig of whiskey.

"It's nothing, Father." Mycroft replied, cutting up a potato, "I mean, it isn't any concern of yours."

"I want to know what has happened."

"Deduce it." mumbled Sherlock

"I'm sorry?" His father looked over to him with a confused expression. Violet put a hand to her head, sensing that something bad was going to happen.

"Deduce it." Sherlock repeated, a little louder.

Siger let out a laugh. "I'm tired of your games."

"But you're the best deducer in the world." Sherlock didn't think that deducer was a word, but he didn't say anything in case it was.

"It's too late in the day for 'deducing', boy."

"I have a name, you know."

His mother let out a squeak and Mycroft glared at Sherlock, warning him not to persist.

"It's Sherlock Holmes, in case you had forgotten," Sherlock continued, "I'm eight years old, I was born on the sixth of January and I'm your son, remember?"

Siger took a deep breath and stood up. He towered over Sherlock, making him feel vulnerable. The boy shrunk into his chair, suddenly thinking that what he had said was probably not the wisest thing to say. His father walked around to the other side of the table, where Sherlock was sat. He grabbed hold of Sherlock's braces and pulled him up in one swift movement. Violet looked at her husband pleadingly but he ignored her.

"Don't talk to me in such a manner, boy," he said sternly, "I am your father and you _will_ respect my authority."

"You can't make me!" Sherlock retorted, trying to sound brave but his hands were trembling with fear.

His father's palm collided with the side of his face, sending Sherlock flying across the room. He landed on the floor beside his mother's chair. She let out a gasp but did nothing. Mycroft lowered his head – he looked ashamed.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Sherlock stumbled to his feet and ran out of the room, down the hallway and up the stairs.

"Sherlock?"

Mycroft stood outside his little brother's bedroom door, his worry increasing every second that he didn't respond.

The young boy sniffed and wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

"L-leave me alone." he said, a pained tone in his voice.

This time Mycroft didn't come in.

"Sherlock," he continued, "I want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine." Sherlock lied.

"No you're not."

"I'm _fine_," the younger brother repeated, "J-just go away, Mycroft. I hate you."

He didn't know why he said it, but from the moment he did he regretted it.

* * *

**Oh dear. Sad face :(**

**Angst is just the thing I do, as much as I love fluffy fluff fluffs.**

**Thanks for reading! Please review 'cause your opinions help me to improve!**

**Hev :D xx**

**P.S. I added Mycroft onto the character list cos he is going to play a big part in this story.**


	4. Her Voice is like Magic

**Here it is - chapter four. Not much happens here, but Molly and Sherlock do meet again. The next chapter is going to be a dramaticy one.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed again. It means so much to me that people like this... Personally I really want to continue, so I'm glad you guys want me to as well.**

**I might start another story on the side of this, or do some oneshots or something, because as cute as kidlock is I need some proper Sherlolly romance. I've got a thing for AU at the moment...**

**Thanks folks and here goes!**

* * *

Mycroft didn't speak to Sherlock for most of the week. The only times Sherlock saw his big brother where when they were having dinner or Mycroft came to pick him up from school – even then he didn't say anything. Sherlock tried to apologise on numerous occasions, but Mycroft would just shake his head and tell him to be quiet. It made the boy feel guilty to know that his brother was hurt by one comment that had slipped out. Mycroft never felt things like normal people did, so Sherlock decided what he had said was a very unkind thing to say and he promised himself he wouldn't say it again.

On Friday, when the brothers were walking home together, Mycroft stopped in the middle of the pavement, put his umbrella down and sighed. Sherlock turned around and gave him a confused look.

"I'm sorry." the former said quietly.

"What for?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"For not being there for you. For letting Father…" Mycroft took in a breath and rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "For everything."

"Is that why you wouldn't talk to me? Because you felt bad about what had happened?" The teenager nodded. "Oh. I thought you were mad at me, because of what I said to you."

The older brother let out a chuckle and ruffled his brother's hair. Sherlock wriggled away and scowled. "Oh, Sherlock," said Mycroft, "Why would I be mad at you for that?"

"I said I hated you." Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes, I know, but all children say that at some point in their life. I remember when I was about your age – maybe a bit younger – I was angry at Father for something so I shouted at him and told him I hated him."

"What happened? Did he hit you?"

Mycroft shook his head.

"He hit _me_." mumbled Sherlock.

"Yes, but in your case he was inebriated and he wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions."

Sherlock didn't know what inebriated meant. However, he didn't ask Mycroft, because he didn't want to seem stupid.

As they continued down the street, Sherlock started to wonder what Molly had been up to all week. He hadn't seen her since their first encounter at the weekend, and now he had an increasing desire to meet her again.

"Can you tell Mother that I'll be back home later than usual?" he asked Mycroft, as they reached the front gate.

"Why?" Mycroft questioned, raising an eyebrow, "Where are you going?"

"I wanted to go on a stroll." Sherlock lied, looking away from his brother and crossing his fingers behind his back.

"I'll come with you."

"No!" the eight-year-old said quickly, "I mean, I'd prefer to be alone, if that's okay. Alone is… Alone is what I have."

Mycroft nodded slowly, looking suspicious. "Fine. But don't wander off anywhere you shouldn't. We don't want a repeat of last week. Oh, and be home in time for dinner."

Sherlock smiled up at him and started to run in the opposite direction.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft called out.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied, turning around.

"Don't get into trouble again."

After running for a good while, Sherlock found himself standing outside Molly's little cottage. He had memorised the location in his head like a map and stored it away for when he needed it. He did that with a lot of things – information, reminders, et cetera. It was like having a permanent storage facility in his brain.

He pondered over what Molly might be doing. She must have been to school as well, as school was 'compulsory', according to Mycroft, and 'vital for the future', according to Mother. He supposed that Molly went to the small primary school down the road, where there were girls _and_ boys and you didn't have to pay a fee. Sherlock didn't understand how the teachers at this kind of school were paid, if the parents didn't pay them.

When he came back to his senses, he knocked on the front door and waited for someone to answer. He scraped his shoes on the gravel, making tiny scratch marks on the black leather. With an impatient sigh, he leant against the wall and began to think that nobody would come.

Without warning the door swung open and there stood Molly, dressed in a loose blouse and pinafore. Her brown hair was plaited and rested on her shoulder.

"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed, casting her his brightest smile.

"Sherlock!" she sounded surprised, "W-what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, obviously," responded her visitor, "May I come inside?"

"Well, I suppose so," Molly told him. She raised a hand to her mouth, as if she was about to bite her fingernails, but then lowered it again. Sherlock deduced she was trying to break the habit. "Grandma's out at the moment, though."

"She's out?" Sherlock inquired, "Who's looking after you, then?" Molly was about to answer when Sherlock asked: "Is your nanny here?"

"I don't have a nanny," Molly informed him, "I'm here on my own."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "On your own?"

"Yes, on my own. B-but that's okay because Grandma will be back soon and-"

"Mycroft says children our age aren't allowed in the house by themselves." Sherlock cut in.

"She's just gone down the road to visit one of her friends."

"It's still not allowed."

Molly let out a sigh and stepped back so that Sherlock could come in.

"Fine, whatever, it's not allowed." she said, as he made his way indoors. He started to kick off his shoes, until he remembered what Mrs Hooper had told him the last time he visited.

"I've missed you, you know." Sherlock told her.

Molly smiled. "I've missed you too," she replied, "It's funny. We're like best friend already."

"I've never had a best friend before." confessed Sherlock.

"Neither have I, apart from Tilly."

Sherlock remembered the grey cat with her pink nose and fluffy tail.

"I like Tilly." he said to Molly.

"Everyone does." she replied, and then laughed. "Shall we go upstairs? Or we could go to the living room. It's nice in there." Sherlock nodded and she led him down the hallway and through a door on their right.

The living room seemed to have a different feel to the rest of the house. It was the largest room that Sherlock had seen so far. The room was filled with pine furniture and cool colours, which gave it a distinctly alpine feel. The smell reminded Sherlock of his violin. There was a small television at the back, which looked about twenty years old. There was no sofa, only wooden chairs with plump cushions. There were a couple of candles on the mantelpiece, along with an empty vase and several framed photographs. One of the photos was of Molly and it looked like it had been taken recently. There were two more – one really old photograph of a handsome man in a soldier's uniform and one of a young couple with a baby. Sherlock wondered who the people in these pictures were.

"They're my parents." Molly said, noticing that Sherlock was staring. She walked over and traced the outline of the man in the photo (her father) with her finger. She then pointed at the infant in her mother's arms. "And that's me, when I had just been born."

"Who's the man in the other photograph?" Sherlock asked, "The black and white one."

"Oh, that's my Granddad," replied Molly, "Grandma's husband. He was in the war and he got killed. I never met him."

"You never told me why you don't live with your parents."

Molly gulped. "W-why don't I go and get us both a glass of water?" she asked, changing the subject, "Or milk, if you'd prefer. Or juice. We've got juice."

"I don't want a drink, but thank you." said Sherlock.

"Are you going to put your bag down?"

Sherlock remembered about his leather satchel that was hanging off one shoulder. "No, I can't. I'll have to go soon."

"You only just got here, though."

"I know, but Mycroft said I have to be home in time for dinner, and I have to practise my violin. Don't you have to practise your instrument too?"

"I don't have an instrument." Molly told him, shrugging her shoulders.

"You don't seem to have many things." Sherlock responded.

"What I do have is enough. And I've got Grandma and Matilda… And you, I guess."

Sherlock smiled. "Do you not like music, then?" he inquired, "If you don't play an instrument."

"No, I love music," Molly replied, "I don't play an instrument but I like singing."

"Singing?"

"Yes, singing."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm not a very good singer."

"I'm sure you are," his friend giggled, "I always say that about myself, but Grandma says I have a beautiful voice."

"She would, wouldn't she? She's your Grandma."

Molly sighed. "I suppose."

"I'm not saying you're bad," Sherlock continued, "I just mean you have to sing to someone who isn't your Grandma and then you'll know the truth."

"You're very clever, Sherlock."

"I know."

They both smiled at each other for a moment.

"You have to sing to someone who isn't your Grandma, so why don't you sing to me?" Sherlock suggested.

Molly's cheeks turned red. "W-well, I suppose I could…"

"Go on then." her guest prompted.

After composing herself, Molly began to sing a lullaby (which Sherlock didn't recognise) in a soft and gentle voice. Her tone was lovely and made Sherlock's mouth hang open in surprise. She really did sing beautifully. He listened to her, staring intently.

"What did you think?" she asked when she was finished, smiling nervously and moving a strand of hair out of her face.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. "It was… It was…"

"It was terrible, wasn't it?" Molly interrupted, burying her head in her hands.

"No, it was… Magic." That was the first word that came into his head.

"Magic?" inquired Molly, confused, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, but you are an _amazing_ singer Molly."

The girl giggled and smiled. "T-thank you, Sherlock."

"What was that song?" he asked.

"My dad taught it to me," Molly replied, "He used to sing it to me to help me sleep."

"Mycroft used to read me a bedtime story," Sherlock stated, "But he doesn't anymore because he says I can read by myself."

"Of course you can read by yourself."

"Everyone can." He looked at the clock on the wall. "I think I should go now."

"But you've only been here for five minutes!" Molly protested, "Stay a bit longer."

"I'm sorry. I can't. I'll come and see you tomorrow."

Sherlock rushed out without saying goodbye. As he walked down the street and peered through the open window, he saw a tear running down Molly's cheek.

* * *

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said. He was in the middle of playing a scale on his violin when he thought of something to ask his brother, who was working on his homework.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Can a song be magic?"

Mycroft cast his brother a confused look and then responded: "I suppose it can, yes."

Sherlock nodded gratefully and rested his instrument on his shoulder again.

"Oh, Sherlock?" Mycroft continued.

"Yes?"

"It's a bow, not a saw."

The younger sibling looked at his instrument, puzzled. "I know," he replied, "What's your point?"

Mycroft sighed. "Never mind."

Sherlock shrugged and resumed the scale, and Mycroft couldn't help but grimace.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :D**

**The 'bow, not a saw' comment comes from how I played my violin when I first started out... It still sounds terrible even now...**

**I've always liked the idea of Molly being a good singer. I share lots of my headcanons with other people, which I suppose makes them canon, in a way. For example: Molly wearing reading glasses and Molly being a keen reader and Molly being extremely close to her Father and so on.**

**Thanks again :)**

**Hev xxx**


	5. Lies and Questions

**Hey again guys! This is chapter five. I know that because I can COUNT. And MOLLY can COUNT. And Molly DOES COUNT.**

**I'm sorry about the little delay in posting (it wasn't that long, but an apology is still due). It is because I had to attend this music festival thing three nights in a row and each one was like hours long and now I'm shattered. I had to listen to little children singing out of tune MY EARS HURT! Molly is such a good singer compared to them… Although, there were some good parts like this ensemble of people (well, obviously, there wouldn't be an ensemble of goats or something) singing/playing the scientist (my favourite song ever) and a soloist who had SUCH A FREAKING GOOD VOICE singing on my own (another of my favourites) AND I CRIED. A bit.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Twenty-one reviews for four chapters is good… Although people like Petra Todd and MorbidbyDefault and all those awesome peeps get like double that per chapter…**

**Oh, and it's Sherlock and Molly's third 'date'. You know what they say about third dates! ;) JK they're not actually going to… They're like eight years old…**

**When I said this chapter would be dramatic... Well, see for yourself. It's not really dramatic, but there are a few revelations and whatnot.**

* * *

It was after lunch the next day that Sherlock decided he would go and visit his new best friend for the third time. He had it all planned in his head. He would knock on the front door, smile at whoever answered and ask to go inside – it was that simple. Both Molly and her grandmother were kind people, and surely wouldn't turn him away. But the problem now was getting out of his own home. Mother was hardly going to let him out by himself, not after the previous weekend, so Sherlock came up with a plan.

"_Mum_," he said, appearing at his mother's side, "I think I lost one of my books on my stroll yesterday."

She sighed. "I can always buy you a new one, Sherlock."

"No, you don't understand!" Sherlock protested, "It was my very favourite book of all time and it was very, very, _very_ special to me and I _have_ to get it back!"

"Alright!" replied Violet, laughing, "Ask your brother to come out and help you find it, and don't take too long."

Sherlock reached up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, before running out of the kitchen, down the hallway and up the stairs. When he reached the top he knocked on Mycroft's door so hard that it hurt his hand.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" hissed Mycroft irritably as he opened the door.

"Mother says you _have_ to come and help me find my book otherwise you'll be in _big_ trouble." Sherlock told, exaggerating just a little. Alright, it was more than just a little, but Mycroft didn't know that, did he?

The teen rolled his eyes. "For goodness sake, Sherlock. It's a _book_. Did you really just disturb my studies because you lost a _book_?"

Sherlock was about to repeat his (very convincing) story about how it was his favourite book ever, but Mycroft continued talking before he had a chance.

"Never mind. I'll help you find it. Where do you think it could be?"

He told his older brother the exact address of Molly's cottage. Mycroft furrowed his brows.

"That's very precise considering you _lost_ it."

"Well, that's where I last remember having it." Sherlock retorted, folding his arms.

"Why did you even have it out, anyway?" questioned Mycroft.

"I was… Reading, of course," Sherlock fibbed, "I was walking and reading at the same time."

"I'm surprised you didn't have an accident."

Mycroft grinned smugly and Sherlock pouted.

"Come and help me find it."

"I _am_ coming, just give me a moment to get ready."

* * *

After approximately twelve minutes of walking (Sherlock counted, for future reference) the boys arrived outside the desired location. Mycroft glanced at the ground suspiciously, looking for any signs of the book, but he couldn't see it anywhere.

"Sherlock, are you certain this is where you lost it?" he asked.

"_Yes_! But maybe you should go down the road a bit more. Just in case…"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "You haven't really lost your book, have you?"

Sherlock gulped and looked down guiltily.

"Sherlock, have you dragged me halfway across the neighbourhood for nothing?" Mycroft inquired, his voice getting louder.

"It was the only way Mother would let me out of the house!" Sherlock told him, then added: "I'm sorry for lying."

"You better be, young man, because I swear this is the last time you ever-"

"Um, excuse me, dearie?" Mycroft stopped talking and turned around swiftly to face the elderly woman who was standing in the doorway, "Can I help you?"

"Ah, no, we were just-"

"Mrs Hooper!" Sherlock exclaimed, flinging his arms around her. She seemed startled at first but soon accepted the hug. Mycroft stared at his brother with disbelief.

"Oh, er, hello… Sherlock," the lady replied, "I was expecting you to be here."

"I told Molly I'd come round." Sherlock informed.

Mycroft looked baffled. "Sorry, have I missed something? Do you two know each other?"

Sherlock took a breath and turned to face him. "Mycroft, this is Mrs Hooper. Molly's grandmother."

"Who on earth is Molly?"

"Molly. Molly Hooper. She's my friend."

Mycroft flinched. He grasped Sherlock's arm and pulled him away from Mrs Hooper, causing the young boy to stumble over his feet.

"You don't have _friends_," Mycroft said firmly, looking down at his little brother, "What do I always tell you, Sherlock?"

"Caring is a disadvantage." Sherlock mumbled in reply.

"Yes, precisely. From now on you are to stay away from this Molly girl, is that clear?"

Sherlock remained silent, staring at the pavement angrily.

"Is that clear, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked again.

The boy frowned, refusing to look up at his brother.

"Mycroft," he said quietly, "I've never had a friend before. _Please_ don't make me have to give this one up."

Mycroft closed his eyes, sighed and took hold of Sherlock's shoulders.

"Listen, Sherlock," he said, a lot calmer than before, "I'm only doing what's best for you."

"I know."

"But at the same time I want you to be happy. So if you want to remain friends with her, then, I suppose, I can't stop you."

Sherlock beamed up at him. "So can I go and see her now?"

"Yes, you may, but only if I can come inside with you. I'll have to ring Mother."

Mrs Hooper, who had been watching the whole conversation, gestured for Mycroft and Sherlock to come inside. Once they were through the door, the cat brushed against Mycroft's leg. He grimaced as cat hairs got stuck to his trousers. Sherlock laughed.

"She's called Matilda." he told his brother.

"She's certainly friendly…" Mycroft replied, smiling uncomfortably.

"She won't hurt you," Mrs Hooper added, "She's a marvellous cat. Molly's had her since she was little. She insisted on bringing her here when she moved in with me."

Mycroft looked around the room for a moment, studying everything closely. "Ah, I see." he said.

"You see what?" Sherlock asked, confused. He began to look around as well.

"It doesn't matter, Sherlock." his brother replied, and then smiled politely at Mrs Hooper, who looked equally perplexed.

"The phone's in the dining room, if you need to make a call." she told the older boy, pointing to the correct door. Mycroft nodded and walked in the direction he had been instructed.

"Where's Molly?" Sherlock queried.

"She's in her room, studying." Mrs Hooper answered.

"What does she need to study for? She's clever enough as she is."

"Oh, you are funny, Sherlock." the woman laughed, leaving Sherlock feeling more bewildered than ever, because all he had done was ask a perfectly logical question.

"But I don't understand," he continued, "She's already the smartest girl I know. Why does she need to be any smarter?"

"It's not about intelligence, it's about recapping her knowledge."

"Why doesn't she just remember things? That's what I do. And if the thing I'm remembering isn't useful I get rid of it."

Mrs Hooper looked utterly bemused. "Well, you just go ahead upstairs. I'm sure she won't mind."

Sherlock smiled and walked up the stairs. He blew the curly hair from his forehead and made his way over to Molly's room. He knocked on the door lightly.

"Is that you, Grandma?" Molly asked.

"No, it's me." Sherlock told her. "Molly, why are you studying?" he questioned as she opened the door for him, "And why are you wearing glasses?"

Molly gasped and took them off quickly. "T-they're my reading glasses. I don't wear them very often, though. They look silly."

"No, they look fine." replied Sherlock.

Molly smiled. "Well, anyway, I'm glad you came. I thought I'd scared you off yesterday."

"I told you I'd come," Sherlock reminded her, "Unfortunately I had to bring Mycroft with me."

"Is he here? Can I go and say hello?"

"Don't bother; he's an idiot. Earlier he told me that I couldn't be friends with you anymore."

"No!" Molly shrieked.

"But don't worry. I managed to convince him otherwise."

The young girl let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. I would have hated it if we couldn't be friends. I know we barely know each other, but that's not the point, is it?"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called from downstairs. Molly giggled at the unfamiliar voice and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Myc?"

"Mother says you're allowed to stay here for a while and I'll come and pick you up later, but you'll be in big trouble when you get back home."

"Are you in trouble because of me?" Molly asked, horrified.

"No, don't worry, I'm _always_ in getting into trouble. At least I can stay here."

Molly nodded in agreement.

"I'm going now, Sherlock." Mycroft told, "Behave yourself."

When he heard the front door close, Sherlock started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" inquired Molly.

"It's just that he always acts like he's my mother and, although it's annoying, it can also be hilarious," Sherlock replied, "My actual mother is strict, but she's nice. And my father is horrible sometimes but he pays for my violin lessons so he's not so bad. Sometimes I wish I had different parents, but I suppose I can't change that and-" He suddenly noticed that Molly was crying. "What's the matter? Was it something I said?"

"You're going on about your parents a-and it's so unfair because…" She stopped and shook her head.

"Because what?"

"Because you actually have parents!" Molly yelled, and then clamped a hand over her mouth.

Sherlock looked confused. "Everyone has parents." he told her.

"That's not what I meant." she sniffled.

"Then what did you mean? I don't understand."

Molly took a shaky breath. "My mum left us when I was little," she stated, "I never found out why. I spent years living with just my father, and Matilda, of course."

"So why do you live with your grandmother now?" Sherlock questioned.

"It's not important." Molly replied, turning away with a sad expression.

As much as Sherlock wanted to know, he decided that it would be best to keep his questions to himself. He didn't want to upset her any further.

* * *

**Aaw! Poor Molly :(**

**Thanks for reading, people! Again, sorry about the delay. I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Please review so I know how to make this better!**

**Hev :D xx**

**P.S. I took Mycroft OFF the character list because it looked a bit strange... And also I changed the cover image to a picture of Asa Butterfield, because 1. he is my headcanon kidlock and 2. it makes a little more sense to have a picture of 'Sherlock' than a random scene**


	6. Waiting All Morning

**Hello! This is chapter six. We meet the housekeeper, Molly is invited to lunch at Holmes manor and COOKIES! **

**Thanks to those people who reviewed or simply read! I understand that kidlock is not everyone's cup of tea (speaking of which, there is tea in this chapter) which is why this may not be doing as well as my other stories. But hey ho.**

**From Tuesday next week I'm going to be in Barcelona! I'm really excited about it (of course) but it means I won't have my trusty laptop (as we have to travel light, apparently) so no updating during that time :( It's only a short trip, though. And I might update beforehand, if I have time.**

**Thanks for reading, folks!**

* * *

The afternoon went by fairly quickly. Sherlock and Molly spent about an hour discussing science, storybooks and other things which interested them. Sherlock discovered Molly's passion for the human body – he figured she would make a great doctor some day in the future. They played pirates for a while. Sherlock was the captain, of course, Molly was his apprentice and Matilda was the ship's cat (which Sherlock said was an essential thing to have). Mrs Hooper baked cinnamon cookies, which Sherlock ate with relish, savouring the new flavours.

It was around five o'clock when Mycroft returned. Sherlock complained that it wasn't fair, refusing to leave until his brother gave him something in return.

"Listen," the older boy snapped at him, "If you are a good boy and do as you're told then _maybe_ Molly can come for lunch tomorrow."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Really? You promise?"

"If you do as you're told," Mycroft repeated, smiling, "I've already cleared it with Mother." He turned to Mrs Hooper. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yes, of course." the elderly woman replied.

"I thought you said your parents wouldn't want me to come round?" Molly whispered to Sherlock.

"Well, I was wrong," he responded quickly, "But never mind that now. Isn't it great? You're coming to my house!"

Mycroft chuckled at his brother. "Remember, Sherlock, you are still in trouble for lying, but thankfully Mother is in one of her good moods this weekend."

"What about Father?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"He shall not be at home for most of tomorrow," Mycroft informed, "He has work to attend to. He won't be back before evening, and Molly will be gone by then."

Sherlock nodded.

"Well, see you tomorrow, then." he said to Molly with a broad smile.

She smiled back and her cheeks flushed red. "Y-yes, see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Mrs Hooper," said Mycroft, "Thank you very much for putting up with my little brother, and I do hope to see you soon."

"You are a gentleman," replied Molly's grandmother, "Goodbye to you too. And you, Sherlock."

Sherlock said goodbye to both Mrs Hooper and Molly, and he and Mycroft made their way back home, where their Mother was waiting for them.

* * *

The next morning Sherlock got out of bed at precisely six o'clock, which was a change of habit for him because usually he woke up a lot later, especially on a Sunday.

Arriving downstairs, Sherlock heard the unmistakable sound of the kettle boiling, so he went into the kitchen to investigate. There he found the housekeeper, whose blonde hair rested on her shoulders in ringlets rather than being pinned up in a bun like it usually was. Furthermore, she was dressed in a nightdress instead of her uniform. She didn't seem to notice Sherlock. He cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention. She instantly gasped in surprise and turned round to face him.

"Oh, Master Sherlock," she said, a little flustered, "You gave me a fright. You're up rather early, aren't you?"

"So are you." Sherlock stated, furrowing his brows.

"I was just… Just making myself tea," the young woman responded, gesturing to the kettle which was now steaming away, "Would you like some?"

"Thank you for the offer but I'm in a rush. I've got to get everything ready for when Molly comes."

"Your mother was telling me about it. She's not coming until lunchtime, though. Surely you have some time to spare?"

Sherlock considered this. "I suppose." he replied, shrugging his shoulders, and then he jumped up onto the kitchen counter. He sat in silence for a moment, observing his surroundings and trying to deduce if anything had changed. After about ten seconds he got bored of the room and moved onto the housekeeper.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he asked with a yawn.

"It's only six," she told him, "And you're not dressed either."

"I'm not the housekeeper." reminded Sherlock, which made his companion chuckle. The boy continued to study the woman standing next to him with curiosity. "You look nice today," he said,

"You look nice with your hair down. And you look really… Sparkly."

"Sparkly?" the housekeeper inquired, confused.

Before Sherlock had a chance to answer her, his Father walked into the room. He too was wearing his nightwear, but also wore a red silk dressing gown over the top.

"What are you doing awake at this time, boy?" he asked his son, "You should be in bed."

"I offered Master Sherlock some tea, which I am making now," the housekeeper replied on Sherlock's behalf, although the child would have preferred to answer for himself, "Would you like some, Siger?"

Sherlock looked at her with confusion. No-one ever called Father by his first name, apart from Mother.

The tall man let out a cough.

"No thank you, Evelyn," he responded, which puzzled Sherlock even more because no-one called the housekeeper by her first name either, "I could do with something a little stronger than tea."

He made a swift exit, heading for his study, which Sherlock knew was where he stored all of his tobacco products. It had always been a mystery to Sherlock why his father chose to smoke a pipe, rather than a cigarette or a cigar like an average person would. Now that he thought about it, his father was not an average person.

"The tea is ready," said the housekeeper (or as Father had referred to her: Evelyn), "You go and get settled in the living room and I'll bring it in."

Tea with Evelyn was an enlightening experience. The housekeeper was happy to chat with him, sharing stories about her own childhood and her ambitions. He had never realised that she too had her own dreams. She had always just been his housekeeper – there to do her job and nothing else. He learnt that she had started working for the family when she was twenty, as the previous and much older housekeeper had died. That was eight years ago, just after Sherlock was born.

She kept talking about Father, which was both irritating and confusing. Sherlock wasn't sure why she was so interested. There was nothing remotely interesting about Siger Holmes, apart from the fact he was remarkably clever and had a red moustache that resembled a rare species of caterpillar.

At roughly quarter to seven, Mycroft entered the living room. He poured himself a cup of tea, as, according to him, you should never give up an opportunity to have tea. He sat in the middle of Sherlock and Evelyn, which annoyed both of them, although Sherlock restrained from making a comment about his brother's weight.

"Don't you have duties to attend to?" he asked the housekeeper as he crossed one leg over the other.

"It's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning," Evelyn replied, "I _am_ allowed some time to relax, you know."

"Then why are you still here? Why don't you go out for the morning? Or better still you could leave for good."

Mycroft's tone was harsh, like Father when he was cross. Sherlock didn't understand this. His brother and the housekeeper seemed to argue every time they were in the same room. The endless conflict between them was ridiculous, in Sherlock's opinion. Mycroft had no reason to be angry at Evelyn.

"You're right," she replied, "I should leave. I'll go and get ready."

Sherlock shot an annoyed look at his brother as she left. "We were having tea," he said, "And you ruined it."

"If anyone has ruined anything, it is her, not me," responded Mycroft, "And you're eight years old. You shouldn't be drinking tea."

Sherlock pouted and slumped back, fed up of being told what he was allowed or not allowed to do all of the time.

* * *

After he had changed and eaten breakfast, Sherlock spent the rest of the morning gazing out of the window, wondering when Molly would arrive. All he could think about now was her. Why did she keep taking over his thoughts? _Is that what happens when you get a friend? _he thought, _You can't stop thinking about them?_

"Sherlock?"

He turned around when he heard his brother speaking.

"You've been sat there for almost two hours," Mycroft continued, "I'm starting to worry."

"I was thinking, Myc." replied Sherlock.

"Hmm." said Mycroft, and then he returned to his studies.

Sherlock turned back to face the window and rested his fingertips under his chin in a praying position. He closed his eyes and thought about Molly again. There was something about her that made him want to smile.

* * *

**What did you think? All comments are appreciated!**

**I will be sure to update soon! You guys are awesome! Next chapter will be lunch at Holmes manor and all that jazz. I don't know where this is going. It doesn't have a particular plot, but like I said last time I REALLY want to write something else at the same time. Maybe a sequel to First Impressions? Or something AU? Or angsty cos I love angst?**

**I shall have a think, amigos.**

**For now though **

**BYE!**

**Hev :D xx**


	7. A Lunch To Remember

**Chapter seven! Finally! **

**I'm really really really sorry about the huge delay but I'm so busy with exams and stuff recently! They'll be done in early May, I promise, and then I can write write write like I've never written before! But for now you'll just have to cope with the gaps, which I'm sure won't be too hard. Stay strong, guys.**

**Thanks for the reviews again! :)**

**Another thing, I discovered that the book Matilda was first published in 1988, which is too late for this story, but hey we can pretend can't we?**

**Thank you for reading :)**

* * *

Molly arrived at the manor an hour before lunch. Her grandmother was invited inside to discuss arrangements with Mrs Holmes, who was curious to see what sort of girl Molly Hooper was. Her son had never really had any friends as such, only Mycroft, so it was a lovely change to see him bonding with such a pleasant and intelligent young girl.

Once they had taken off their shoes, Sherlock led Molly upstairs to his bedroom. He was a bit nervous about how she would react. His bedroom was boring and dull compared to hers. And he had never had a girl in his room before, unless he counted his mother and Evelyn, who weren't really girls at all.

Molly looked around the room with her mouth wide open. It was considerably larger than her own. The furnishings included a huge oak wardrobe, which looked at least a hundred years old, and a desk by the window which was covered in what seemed to be chemistry equipment. There was a pile of books in the corner and random objects scattered over an old-fashioned rug, including a pair of blue pyjamas and what looked like a wooden sword.

"It's amazing," Molly told him, "A bit messy, but amazing."

"I was going to tidy it, but then I forgot." Sherlock admitted.

"Couldn't your housekeeper do that for you?" inquired Molly.

"She's gone somewhere," informed her friend, "Mum doesn't pay her to work on Sundays. She says that she should at least get one day off work every week."

"Is that a sword?" Molly asked, pointing to the weapon on the floor.

"It's a dagger," Sherlock replied, picking it up, "All pirates have daggers."

"What do you use it for?" his companion questioned, studying the dagger with interest.

"Killing my enemies, of course."

"Who are your enemies?"

"The sailors of the royal navy," stated Sherlock, then he started laughing, "And the government people."

"What's funny about the government people?" Molly asked, confused.

"Mycroft says he's going to be one of them when he's older." Sherlock laughed, and Molly giggled with him when she understood the joke.

"So, what are we going to do, then?" she queried.

"Um, we could do an experiment." Sherlock suggested.

Molly smiled and nodded. "I would like that. What sort of experiment can we do?"

"No, no, no. No experiments." said Mycroft sternly, appearing in the room.

"_Get out_!" Sherlock shouted, pointing his dagger at his brother who had rudely interrupted the conversation.

"What is _that_ supposed to be?" Mycroft asked.

"It's my pirate dagger. Honestly, Myc, you're supposed to know these things."

The older boy laughed and tousled Sherlock's hair, making him scowl irritably. "The imagination of children," he chuckled, "There are to be _no_ experiments, Sherlock. Not after what happened last time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Mycroft." muttered Sherlock miserably.

Once Mycroft was gone, Molly asked Sherlock: "What happened last time?"

"I mixed two chemicals together which caused a reaction that made the test-tube explode," he told her, "My bedroom was covered in pieces of broken glass and bubbles from the mixture."

Molly couldn't hold in her laughter. "That sounds dangerous."

"Dangerous is fun." Sherlock said.

"M-maybe for you, but I'd prefer to do something safe."

* * *

They spent the next forty minutes or so playing pirates in the garden. Sherlock was armed with his dagger, and he wore an eye-patch and a funny hat. He found some feathers on the ground and tucked them behind Molly's ear, telling her that all girl pirates wore feathers because they made you look like a parrot. Molly wasn't sure if this was true, but she decided to take his word for it.

They had lots of fun running around the deck, chasing the sailors around the pirate ship. Captain Sherlock managed to loot the treasure, but it was Molly who rescued the ship's cat. After a while, the queen interrupted their voyage to tell them that lunch was ready.

* * *

Molly hadn't had a Sunday roast like this for ages. In fact, she'd _never_ had a roast like this before. The potatoes were crisp on the outside but fluffy on the inside, and the beef was lovely and tender. The vegetables were her favourite part, as they were soft and buttery, exactly how she liked them.

"These vegetables are lovely, Mrs Holmes." she complimented, once she had finished her mouthful.

"Thank you, Molly," Violet replied, smiling, "I don't usually cook for the family – we have Evelyn to do that – but I'm glad that when I do it is appreciated."

"Vegetables are _horrid_." Sherlock whispered into his friend's ear.

"You're so immature, Sherlock," she replied, "Vegetables are an important source of vitamins and minerals."

"I must say, Mummy, the meat is cooked splendidly." said Mycroft.

Sherlock pulled a face at him.

"Don't do that, Sherlock, our guest definitely won't admire your childish behaviour."

"I _am_ a child," Sherlock wailed dramatically, "And _you're_ the childish one, Mycroft. You _still_ call her Mummy and you're fifteen years old."

Mycroft blushed profusely, embarrassed because he knew his little brother was right.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Sherlock," their mother told him, "It just means he cares about me, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Sherlock shut up and continued eating.

"If you eat all of your vegetables you can have some dessert." Violet told him.

Once she had said it, Mycroft seemed to rapidly increase the speed at which he was eating his veg.

"There's dessert?" Molly inquired curiously.

"Chocolate gateau. I made it especially for the occasion."

At this Mycroft's eyes seemed to light up, like he had just witnessed a miracle.

"Gateau?" he queried, "You never told me you made gateau."

"It was supposed to be a surprise," his mother laughed, "I know how much you adore cake, Croft, and I expected that Molly would too."

"I love cake." said Molly.

"Everyone loves cake." said Mycroft.

"_I _don't." mumbled Sherlock, stabbing a roast potato with his fork.

Mrs Holmes sighed and rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, you ate the last cake I made without complaining, so don't start now."

"That was a sponge. This is gateau. It's far too sickly and sweet."

"Well, don't have any then, you ungrateful child," Violet said, although it was clear she meant it in jest, "Sherlock, you're so impolite. You need to learn some manners."

"Why?" her youngest (and undoubtedly most inquisitive) son asked.

"You will have to be polite and courteous to your associates, and to your wife, and you need to set a good example to your children-"

"I'm not going to have a wife," Sherlock cut in, "I'm never getting married and I'm never having kids and I don't have to be polite."

"Yes you do."

"Why? Is there a law against not having manners?"

The room fell silent and Sherlock smiled triumphantly. Molly sighed.

"Did you mean it when you said you were never going to get married? Or have kids?" she queried.

"Of course," replied Sherlock, "Wives are a waste of time and children are stupid."

Mycroft and Mrs Homes cast him a pointed look.

"Well, _I'm _not stupid, obviously," he added, "And neither is Molly."

"Wives are a waste of time, are they Sherlock?" Violet questioned.

"I don't mean any offense, Mother, but yes, they are. That would explain why Father spends so much time with other women."

Mycroft nearly choked on his Yorkshire pudding.

"_What_ did you say, Sherlock?" asked the boys' mother.

"When he's not at work he's always with Evelyn or that office lady and-"

"_Enough_, Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed.

Mrs Holmes had turned white as if she had seen a ghost. She stared into thin air for a moment, before coming to her senses.

"I have to go." she whispered, excusing herself from the table.

"Mrs Holmes?" said Molly, concerned.

"See what you've done now, Sherlock?" Mycroft snapped at his younger sibling once their mother was gone.

"No, I don't see," retorted Sherlock, "I was making a valid point."

"Sherlock, you must _never_ mention this again. I will try and sort everything out, but I may not be successful."

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Sherlock wailed.

"You've done _everything_ wrong!"

Mycroft stormed out and slammed the door behind him. Sherlock felt his eyes brimming with tears.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" he repeated, "It's not fair!"

Molly took hold of his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She smiled at him reassuringly.

"It's okay, Sherlock," she said, "Just give him a bit of time to cool down. I'm sure he'll come round eventually."

"I don't understand what I've done wrong."

"I don't think you've done anything wrong."

Sherlock dried his eyes and smiled back at Molly. He wrapped his arms around her, taking her by surprise, and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you."

* * *

**Oh God.**

**Oh God why do I do this to you guys?**

**Why do I do this to ****_myself_****?**

**Oh, whatever, I love angst.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Hev :D xxx**

**P.S. You know where I said that Molly saved the ship's cat? Well I just realised something - TOBY IS ****_OUR_**** SHIP'S CAT! OMG because Sherlolly and asdfghjkl! :D Okay, I'll go now... ;)**


	8. What Did I Do Wrong?

**Hello folks. I am sorry about the huge delay, but like I said on my thingy page I have had lots of exams and I have had to revise and stuff so no fanfic updates for a while :(**

**But now I'm back! And here is the next chapter.**

* * *

Sherlock and Molly spent half an hour sitting in Sherlock's bedroom, asking the occasional question or making the odd statement, but neither of them were really in the mood for talking. They could hear the sounds of Violet crying downstairs, and Mycroft comforting her. Sherlock didn't understand what he had done. Surely he couldn't have done something terrible? If he had, it was an accident.

There was silence for a moment, then the heard the sound of someone walking up the stairs. It was Mycroft who opened the door, a rueful expression spread over his face.

"Sherlock," he said in a calm, quiet tone, which somehow sounded scarier than if he was shouting, "You do not understand the amount of damage you have caused."

"No, I don't understand," Sherlock replied, bowing his head sadly, "What did I do wrong?"

"It is not your fault that this has occurred, but I wish sometimes you would think before you speak."

The younger sibling frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, still not understanding the situation.

"I suggest, for your own safety, that you stay away from Father when he returns home," Mycroft continued, "And for a good while after. Is that clear?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Molly, we shall escort you back home. Unfortunately your stay here will have to be cut short."

Molly sighed. "That's okay," she responded, "Thanks for having me."

Mycroft refrained from correcting her. "Thank you for coming," he said, and then he whispered to her, "And thank you for being there for him."

He led the girl out of the room and Sherlock looked up with a sad expression. Why did bad things always happen to him? It wasn't fair.

It was a while later that Sherlock decided to go back downstairs and check up on his mother. She looked distraught. Her eyes were red from crying and she had a handkerchief in her hands, which she fiddled with nervously.

"Mummy?" Sherlock whispered.

She looked up at him and shook her head. He took this as a signal to leave her alone.

* * *

Father returned home late. Sherlock was already tucked up in bed, and he had been for a couple of hours, but he could not sleep. He could hear his parents arguing downstairs. Mother was shouting, which was unusual. She sounded incredibly angry. Father cursed several times – some of the words he yelled were new to Sherlock, and he didn't like the sound of them. He guessed that his father was drunk again.

They argued for a good twenty minutes and then Sherlock heard the sound of glass shattering. He heard Violet shriek, and Siger shouted at her. He told her she was stupid and had gotten it completely wrong. Sherlock couldn't bear it anymore. He always hated arguments, but this one was so much worse than usual.

He crept out of his bedroom and along the landing, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards. When he reached the other side, he tentatively opened the door to his brother's bedroom. He stood with his hand on the door handle, looking miserable, confused and afraid all at once.

Mycroft was sat on his bed, dressed in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. His hair was dishevelled and he looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. His knees were up to his chest and he clutched them tightly. He didn't look like Mycroft. He looked just as terrified as Sherlock did.

He held out a hand, beckoning for Sherlock to come to him. The boy walked slowly over to the bed and sat down, resting his head against his brother's chest. Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and they sat in silence, listening to the commotion downstairs.

"Why are they shouting?" Sherlock asked after a while.

"Father has done some bad things," answered Mycroft, "I doubt Mother will ever forgive him."

"I'm scared, Mycroft," the young boy whispered, feeling the tears forming in his eyes.

"I know," Mycroft replied, "I am too. Be brave, Sherlock. Please be brave. For me."

Sherlock nodded and nestled closer to his big brother. Mycroft was the only person he felt safe with.

"You need to sleep," the older boy said, "Close your eyes. Try and get some rest."

"I can't sleep. Not whilst they're shouting."

Mycroft stroked his brother's hair and tried to calm him down.

"Just close your eyes…" he whispered.

Soon they were both fast asleep. Mycroft lay on his back with his mouth slightly open as he gently snored, and Sherlock lay beside him with his head resting on his chest.

* * *

The next morning neither Sherlock nor Mycroft saw their mother. The latter deduced that she had left after the argument – gone to stay with her sister, probably. Father was in his study, drinking glass after glass of scotch even though it was early morning.

Mycroft poured his brother a glass of milk and put three slices of bread in the toaster – one for Sherlock and two for himself. He did all of this in silence and Sherlock watched from a distance, inquisitively tilting his head.

"Here you are, little brother," Mycroft said, handing him the glass of white liquid.

Sherlock smiled appreciatively and lifted the glass to his mouth. He glugged as he drank, forgetting about the usual rules. He wiped the milk from his mouth when he had finished and handed the glass back to his brother.

After they had eaten the toast (which Mycroft had absolutely smothered in butter) they went upstairs to get changed. Mycroft helped Sherlock get ready for the first time in years. He tucked in his shirt and tidied his hair, making sure he looked neat enough for school. He then got changed himself, into his smart school uniform.

Once they were back down, Sherlock sat on the bottom step and Mycroft sat on the one above as they put on their shoes. Mycroft picked up his brother's satchel and Sherlock took Mycroft's umbrella from the stand. They both smiled.

* * *

The school day seemed to go by extremely slowly. A couple of boys teased Sherlock about his name and his family - they always did. It was never something that upset him. He usually insulted them back and they left him alone. But today he was too tired and too miserable to say anything, so the boys simply mocked him and did not stop until the last bell rang and it was time to go home.

Sherlock sat outside the school gate, the usual place he met Mycroft after school. He waited for what seemed like hours. After a while he began to think his brother would never come. He was never usually this late.

When Mycroft eventually arrived he had a large bruise on the side of his face.

"What happened to you?" Sherlock asked.

"I got into a fight," Mycroft replied.

"You never get into fights," his brother stated.

"Some of the boys in my class were saying things… Awful things."

"About you?" inquired Sherlock, "Or Father or Mother?"

"No, they were saying things about _you_." Mycroft told him, and then he began to walk down the pavement. Sherlock quickly caught up with him.

"What did they say about me?" he queried.

"I can't tell you. They said some truly terrible things about you, Sherlock. And some bad words too."

"Father was saying bad words last night," Sherlock informed.

Mycroft made a 'hmm' noise but didn't say anything.

* * *

The days passed by and soon it had been two weeks since the argument, and since Sherlock had last seen his dear friend Molly Hooper.

He decided that he hated Father. Mycroft had briefly explained what he had done that was so dreadful and, although Sherlock couldn't make sense of words such as 'adultery' and 'deceit', he knew that his father had done some inexcusable things.

Mother returned home on the first Wednesday, much to her sons' relief. She barely spoke. She was so quiet and depressed – it was like she was a ghost, haunting the house. Sherlock never saw Evelyn again. Presumably she had some involvement in all of this.

Mycroft got into another fight. He was beaten pretty badly. Violet was sat silently in her bedroom, so it was Sherlock who had to tend to his wounds. He dabbed at the cuts with a wet cloth and the older boy grimaced in pain, but he seemed extremely grateful.

"I should be looking after you, not the other way round," he sighed.

"Don't get into fights, then."

They would have laughed if it wasn't for the gloomy atmosphere that seemed to hang in the air nowadays.

Sherlock didn't understand why Mycroft kept getting into fights. He didn't understand why Mother was so upset. Most of all he didn't understand why he had a burning desire to run up to Molly and wrap his arms around her.

* * *

***Sobs***

**I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I just ruined your day.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**Let me cry now.**


	9. Lilies Made Her Cry

**Hey folks! Chapter nine, and two updates in two days for you to make up for the lack of updates during my examses period.**

**I refuse to say the word exams. Examses is so much cooler. And recently I've been a bit LOTR obsessed so... Gollum.**

**Thanks for you guys who reviewed! Sorry about the major dose of angstyness...**

**This chapter includes: moody Mycroft, a fairly big time skip (or whatever they're called), angst (sorry again) and fluffses so it's not all bad.**

* * *

After two weeks of not seeing each other, Sherlock met Molly practically every day. It was the half-term holiday; a whole week without school. Normally Sherlock would have been extremely excited at the prospect, but he was constantly miserable. Nothing seemed to cheer him up anymore. Nothing except Molly. She was the one thing in the whole world that made him smile – the one person he felt happy around. She was like a single ray of sunshine shining through the grey clouds.

Mycroft had changed. He always seemed to be in a mood with Sherlock. He rarely ventured outside and spent most of the day in his bedroom. Sherlock didn't understand why he was so irritable lately, although he didn't really help the situation. He often teased Mycroft, mainly because he was bored and had nothing else to do.

"You're all spotty." he stated one day, whilst Mycroft was sat at his desk reading.

"You're a baby, "the teen retorted grumpily, "Go away, Sherlock."

Sherlock folded his arms and pouted. "I'm not a baby!" he wailed.

"Yes you are. Now leave me alone."

The younger boy ignored the order and sat down on Mycroft's bed. He started to hum a tune, which was incredibly annoying.

"Sherlock, will you stop that racket!" Mycroft yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. He made Sherlock jump. "Get out of my bedroom!"

Sherlock pulled a face and made his way out of the room. "Fine!" he shouted back.

* * *

He decided to visit Molly. He didn't bother asking Mother. She didn't seem to care about anything anymore. She had been more cooperative recently, though. She smiled at the boys and asked them if they were alright, but it was obvious she was still depressed. Sherlock had caught her crying on several occasions, and every time he asked if she was okay she just cried.

"Molly," he said to his friend as he entered her bedroom, "You never told me what happened to your father."

It was a thought that he had been pondering over for a while, especially after the whole fiasco with his own father.

The girl gulped and looked away from him. "It doesn't matter."

"No, tell me," he insisted, "I'm interested."

"I don't want to talk about it!" Molly snapped at him, and then she began to cry.

Sherlock looked down and bit his lip awkwardly.

"Sorry," she continued, wiping her eyes, "I just… It's not something I like to talk about."

Her friend nodded. "That's okay, I suppose. But you'll tell me one day, won't you? Maybe when we're older."

"Yeah," Molly said with a sweet smile, "When we're older."

* * *

The two of them remained friends for years, their bond ever increasing. Eventually they were inseparable. As they got older, Sherlock became even more headstrong and arrogant, whereas Molly went in completely the opposite direction and became quieter and less confident. However, not once did their friendship weaken.

It was a few years later when they had their first proper argument. Sherlock was eleven and Molly was ten. The former had just started secondary school and he _loathed_ it. The teachers were extremely strict and the pupils were incredibly full of themselves, not to mention the fact that they learnt pointless subjects like history and religious studies. The two lessons he did like were chemistry and biology, but the rest of the day's routine was arduous.

What made the situation worse was that Mycroft – who had turned eighteen several months ago – had set off to university. Oxford. Sherlock had read about that place. 'One of the best universities in the country', it had said in one book, 'full of snobs', it had said in another. He didn't know what to believe, as both were biased accounts, but frankly he didn't care. The only thing he cared about now was that Mycroft was gone, which was annoying because, honestly, Mother was useless and Father was, well… Father.

"Everything's so _boring_," he complained to Molly. The two of them were sat under the sycamore tree in Sherlock's garden, which didn't seem that large anymore. "At least when Mycroft was here I had someone to talk to."

"You've got me to talk to," Molly reminded him, smiling.

"You're not here all the time though," Sherlock replied, "There's nothing to _do_. It's not fair."

"Play pirates?" the girl suggested, "Read a storybook? Um… Play your violin?"

"Playing is for babies," her companion answered, "Storybooks are too and I only play my violin when I'm thinking, or during my lessons with the _unbearable_ Mr Henderson."

Molly let out a sigh. Sherlock was growing up. Personally she still loved to play games and read storybooks. Maybe that's what happened when you went to high school? You stopped doing things like that. For a moment she wished they were both in Neverland, where they would never have to grow up.

"Why don't you give your brother a call?" she asked.

"Don't be stupid, Molly," Sherlock replied, his tone harsh, "I don't miss him _that_ much. Idiot."

"I-I'm not an idiot." Molly tried to sound cross, but her voice was quiet and she couldn't stop herself stuttering.

"I was talking about Mycroft, _actually_," Sherlock responded, rolling his eyes, "But now that I think about it, you _are_ an idiot too. You're so immature, Molly."

"You were too once, remember?" Molly shouted, standing up and glaring at him with eyes filled with tears, "I… You're so _mean_, Sherlock."

The boy scoffed. "Oh, for God's sakes, Molly! That _wasn't_ mean!"

"Yes it was. Just… Just leave me alone, Sherlock."

"With pleasure," Sherlock murmured.

Molly felt a tear run down her cheek. "I _hate_ you!" she cried, "You're so insensitive and cruel and I hate you! I wish we'd never met."

She began to run away, sobbing. Sherlock watched with confused eyes, cocking his head. He didn't understand what he had said to upset her.

"Girls," he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Sherlock decided two days later that _maybe_ he had been just a _little_ bit out of order and _maybe_ he should go and apologise. He picked some flowers from the garden and made his way over to the Hoopers' small cottage, which seemed smaller than ever now.

Mrs Hooper was there to greet him when he arrived, although she didn't look like she was in the mood for polite chit-chat. Her face was stern; she was angry, he deduced, probably because of what had happened.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hooper," he began, flashing her his brightest smile, "Um, I was wondering if I could speak to Molly."

"You better apologise, young man," the woman said in a tone that seemed far too intimidating for a kind old lady, "Dear Molly is dreadfully upset because of you. She's cried an awful lot."

Sherlock bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry," he replied sheepishly, "Sometimes I don't realise that I've said something hurtful until it's too late. Sometimes I don't realise at all."

"I understand that you've had a tough time recently, with your brother going away to university and all," Mrs Hooper said, "But that's no excuse for your behaviour. Molly's a forgiving girl. I'm sure you can make amends. She's in the living room."

Sherlock smiled gratefully and walked into the living room. There was still the fresh smell of pine wood hanging in the air.

He saw Molly curled up on the sofa with an old blanket covering her small body. Her lustrous brown hair was tousled and he could hear her sniffling. She looked a mess.

"Molly…" he said uncertainly, approaching the still figure.

She snivelled but didn't say anything.

"Molly, I came to apologise," he continued.

"It's fine," Molly replied, "It's fine, really."

"No, it isn't," Sherlock corrected, kneeling down beside the sofa. He could see her face. Her eyes were red and she looked tired. "I… I said something that upset you, didn't I?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, but it's fine."

"It's clearly not," Sherlock remembered the flowers he had brought for her, "I got you these. Picked them myself."

Molly sat up, wiped her nose and took the flowers from him. She looked at them for a second, blinked and then started crying.

"Oh, um, what's wrong?" inquired Sherlock, bewildered.

"These are lilies," Molly wept, "T-they're the flowers of death."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's just... They were at the funeral…"

"What funeral?" The boy was baffled now, and also extremely concerned about Molly.

Her lips quivered as she said: "My dad's."

All of a sudden Sherlock realised. _That_ was why she was always so reluctant to talk about her father. That must have been what Mycroft had 'seen' when he came to visit the house for the first time. It all made sense now.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he put a hand on Molly's shoulder and smiled. She pulled him into a hug and squeezed him tightly, crying profusely. Sherlock didn't know how to react at first. He was taken aback for a moment, but eventually he returned the gesture and hugged her back.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" she repeated over and over.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Sherlock interrupted, "_I'm _the one who should be sorry. Oh, Molly, if only I'd known…"

"It's okay," Molly said, pulling away, "It feels better to say it out loud. And it was ages ago anyway…"

"That doesn't change the fact that he's dead." Sherlock replied tactlessly.

Molly stared at him for a second, hurt, but thought to herself: _He's Sherlock – he doesn't mean to upset me._

"Thanks for the flowers." she sniffled.

"My pleasure," Sherlock responded.

She cast him a coy smile. _That_ made him feel better. She always looked beautiful when she smiled.

* * *

**Aaw aaw aww I'm so sorry please don't kill me!**

**Um... There will probably be another time-skip in the next chapter (time-skips are a thing now)... Probably about two years.**

**I want to do the pre-teen years fairly quickly, and then get onto teenage years and uni years...**

**They think the adventure began when they met, but the actually adventure will come with time...**

**Clue: Sherlolly peeps. **

**Thanks for reading and bye! :D**


	10. The Mystery of the Missing Shoes

**Three chapters in two days, you lucky things! It's all compensation from my little hiatus... Well, examses, but hiatus is a cool world. **

**Another time-skip in this chapter, and a name you will recognise...**

**I'd say thanks for the reviews but I literally just posted the last chapter and no-one's reviewed then... Teehee. :)**

**Thanks guys and here goes!**

* * *

"Do you ever think about the future?" Molly asked Sherlock, as they lay together on the floor in her bedroom, "About what you're going to do, who you're going to be?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I haven't given it much consideration, to be honest," he replied, "I know when I was younger I-"

"Wanted to be a pirate," Molly finished for him, laughing.

"Yes, but that's hardly realistic, is it?" replied Sherlock, "I don't know what I want to be."

Molly bit her lip as she thought. "I want to be a doctor… Although I don't know how I'd cope with having someone's life on my hands. It's too much pressure."

"You could always go into pathology," her friend suggested, "Study the dead. That would be easier."

"Hmm, I'll bear it in mind."

The two of them lay quietly for a moment. The only sound was their gentle breathing and the sound of Matilda purring on the bed.

"She's getting old now," Molly sighed, "Poor puss. I've had her all my life and I'm now losing her."

"All things must come to an end." Sherlock reminded her.

It had been five years since they had first met. Sherlock was thirteen – a teenager, God forbid. Molly was in her first year of high school now, except she went to the community school in town while Sherlock went to the irritatingly posh public school in the countryside. It was a long walk home, but he still preferred to walk so that he could gather his thoughts. The school was situated in a particularly affluent area, where trouble rarely occurred.

Molly was not so fortunate. Her school was in a bad part of town. Older children (boys especially) often hung out there, and more often than not they were smoking. Molly found that disgusting. She had read about the effects of smoking in the science textbook that her grandmother had bought her for her eleventh birthday. What was even worse was the fact that everyone in her class bullied her. They pulled her plaits, pushed her over and other horrible things that she didn't dare tell Sherlock in case he beat them up or something. He learnt two martial arts, after all.

* * *

"Molly!"

Molly was startled when she heard the sound of Sherlock calling her name. She was walking home from school and he was running up behind her, holding something that looked like a page from a newspaper.

"What have you got there, Sherlock?" Molly queried.

"Look," he said, pointing to a picture of a boy about his own age, "It's a proper mystery."

Molly looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"This boy, Carl Powers, died at a pool in London a few days ago. A terrible accident, the police said."

"Well, then how is it a mystery?" his companion asked.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "Isn't it obvious?" Molly shook her head. "It obviously was _not_ an accident."

The girl furrowed her brows. "How do you know?"

"His shoes are missing," her friend stated, smiling smugly.

Molly was even more baffled. "What does _that_ have to do with anything? You're not making any sense. How is it important that his _shoes_ are missing?"

"It's _really_ important!" Sherlock said frantically, "All of the rest of his clothes were in his locker but not his shoes. Now, think, why would his shoes be missing?"

"Um, he left them at home?" guessed Molly.

Sherlock looked irritated. "Don't be thick, Molly."

"Well, I don't know, do I? I'm not a genius like you."

The boy smiled slightly, out of pride rather than embarrassment. "If his shoes aren't there it means somebody must have taken them. That means whoever took his shoes must have had a reason to do so. Conclusion: It was murder."

Molly gasped. "Murder?!" she asked, shocked, "You're saying someone _killed_ him?"

"Yes," Sherlock told curtly, "It seems the most reasonable explanation."

"But… It's really unlikely."

"When you get rid of the impossible, whatever is still there, no matter how unlikely, has to be right." responded Sherlock, feeling incredibly pleased with himself for coming up with that off the top of his head.

Molly looked confused for a second, but after a moment she nodded, understanding. "What do you suggest we do, then?" she inquired.

"Um... I don't know," Sherlock admitted, "Tell the police, I suppose. Maybe Mycroft can help us or something?"

His friend nodded eagerly. "It will be like our own adventure!" she giggled.

"The Carl Powers adventure," Sherlock said in a dramatic voice, "The mystery of the missing shoes."

* * *

Sherlock and Molly hadn't realised how hard their plan would be to carry out. Firstly they had to get to London. It wasn't that far away, but how were two schoolchildren going to convince their families to let them go by themselves? Sherlock thought the answer was simple.

"We can't go without telling anyone!" Molly wailed when he told her his preposterous idea, "That would be like… Running away. And something might happen to us. Imagine how my Grandma or your parents would feel if we got hurt… Or worse…"

"My father wouldn't care, that's for sure," Sherlock replied. He spat on the floor, making Molly giggle, but she quickly stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. "He hates me. I hate him. He got into one of his rages yesterday. 'You're a disgrace, boy!' he shouted, 'You should have never been born!'."

Molly would have laughed at his impersonation, but she felt sorry for him.

"I don't understand how your own dad can be so… so…"

"Callous?" suggested Sherlock, "Aloof? Malicious?"

Molly nodded, although she only knew what one of those words meant.

* * *

In the end they managed to persuade Molly's grandma to take them there by train at the weekend. Sherlock may have told a little white lie and said that his parents were fine with him going.

There were still a few hurdles they had to get over. How would they get the police to listen to them? How were they supposed to find Mycroft? Sherlock didn't have a clue what his telephone number was. In fact, he wasn't sure he even _had_ a telephone.

"We'll figure out a way," Molly reassured him, "Even if we don't have Mycroft's help, we can still tell the police."

"As if the police are going to take any notice of two children and an ol-" He stopped himself just in time, remembering that Mrs Hooper was in the room with them. "A… Er… Your grandmother."

"Oh, I'll _make_ them listen." Mrs Hooper said, shaking her fist in the air. Both of the children laughed and she joined in with them.

"I've booked the train tickets," she continued, "Third class, but that doesn't matter, does it? It was all I could afford. We're leaving after school on the Friday and we'll return on the Sunday evening."

"That might not be long enough," Sherlock sighed.

"Hey, of course it will. You better get your suitcase ready at some point, Sherlock. You too, Molly, though I can help with that."

They both smiled at her and nodded. This was going to be one exciting adventure.

* * *

**Ta da! The mystery of the missing shoes begins! I guess this whole Carl Powers mystery will take up another two or three chapters, and then it's teenage times... Sherlolly awaits, my preciouses ;)**

**Thanks for reading again omnomnom! :D**

**(I'm so hungry omg).**


	11. Train Rides and Sibling Rivalry

**Heeeyyyy guys!**

**So, it's chapter eleven. Wow. And that's another chapter for you in this awesome bank holiday weekend! :D**

**Not much to say really. This moves quite quickly and MYCROFT. **

**Sorry.**

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**Okay bye :)**

* * *

Molly had never been to inside a train station before. Her hands trembled as they walked along the busy platform and she subconsciously reached out for Sherlock. He took her delicate hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze, casting her an encouraging smile.

The three of them walked over to a metal bench and took a seat. They placed their suitcases down on the stone floor.

"We're at least half an hour early," Mrs Hooper said, sighing, "Why don't you go and get changed, Sherlock?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows and looked down at what he was wearing. "But, Mrs Hooper… Why would I get changed when I'm already wearing clothes?"

"You're still in your uniform," the woman stated.

This was partly true. Sherlock was still wearing his school shirt, shorts and shoes, although he had removed his blazer and tie. He _hated_ wearing a tie. It felt like he couldn't breathe whenever he wore one, which was practically every day.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I think I'll stay like this," he replied.

He turned to face Molly and noticed that she was shivering. "Are you cold?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Just a little nervous, is all," she answered timidly, "This is all new to me."

"We always get the train down to the port and take the ferry to France," Sherlock told her. He sighed miserably. "Well, we used to."

Molly gingerly rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about everything that happened." she whispered.

"You've been through worse," Sherlock replied, putting his arm around her.

Mrs Hooper smiled at the sight. "You two are such close friends," she said, "It cheers me up to see you together."

"Why would you need cheering up if you weren't sad in the first place?" Sherlock inquired.

The old woman sighed in response.

* * *

The train came forty minutes later. The loud noises startled Molly, but, as always, Sherlock was there to hold her hand and assure her that she was perfectly safe.

"I can't believe you've never been on a train before," he said, as he lifted both of their bags onto the carriage. He offered out his hand and helped Molly up.

Mrs Hooper directed them to a couple of cramped seats. "You two sit here and I'll go and find a place somewhere else."

"Can't you stay with us Grandma?" Molly asked nervously.

"There's no room, love," her grandmother replied, "Don't worry about it. Give me a call and I'll come running, just you wait and see."

The girl giggled and nodded. Mrs Hooper walked down the aisle, her suitcase at her side.

"This isn't exactly how I remember the train," Sherlock told, looking at the space beneath him (or rather the lack of it), "It's a good job it isn't a long journey."

Molly looked equally squashed. "Have you got the article?" she asked him.

Sherlock rummaged through one of his pockets and got out a folded piece of paper – the article about Carl Powers which he had ripped out of his Father's newspaper.

"I'll show it to Mycroft when we see him," he said, sliding it back into his pocket, "_If_ we see him."

"We'll find him. Don't worry. We can ask the staff at the university. It's not like there will be any other Mycroft Holmeses around."

* * *

The train journey was considerably short. It took them to Kings Cross station and from there they had to get a taxi to a hotel, where they stored their luggage, and then to Oxford University, which wasn't even in London. The fare made Mrs Hooper gasp. Fortunately Sherlock had brought a large bundle of money (he wouldn't tell anyone where he got it from) and so he paid the cabby.

They arrived inside the main hall of the university, where they were greeted by a middle-aged gentleman in a three-piece suit. He was wearing a bright blue tie.

"Good afternoon, Madam," he said in a hoarse voice, looking at Mrs Hooper with uninterested eyes, "How may I be of assistance?"

"We are looking for one of your students," Mrs Hooper replied, "His name's Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes."

The man nodded. "Ah, yes, I know Holmes. He is one of our most intelligent students. No doubt he will earn a position in the government one day."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Do you have any idea where he will be?" he questioned.

The stocky man looked down at Sherlock critically. He hadn't seemed to notice either of the children until now.

"I presume he will be studying in the library," he told, "What concern is it of yours, though? Do you have any connection to Mr Mycroft Holmes, young man?"

"I thought it would be obvious," Sherlock stated, "I'm his brother."

The man's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, I suppose that makes all the difference. Follow me."

He led the three of them to the large library. Molly's mouth hung open as they entered. It was huge. She hadn't seen this many books in her _lifetime_.

After scanning the area, Sherlock noticed his brother sat at a desk. He was absorbed in whatever book he was reading – most definitely another text about political history or something else that was a complete waste of time.

"He's over there," the boy said, pointing to Mycroft.

"You go on ahead and speak to him."

Sherlock glanced up at the man for a moment and then walked towards his brother, with Molly following closely behind him. Mrs Hooper stayed where she was.

"Hello Myc," Sherlock greeted as he reached the desk where his brother was working.

Mycroft looked up quickly in disbelief. "What are _you_ doing here?!" he asked incredulously.

"We need your help," informed Sherlock, "There was this boy who drowned and-"

"Sherlock, you should _not_ be here," Mycroft interrupted sternly, "I can't believe you brought Miss Hooper with you as well. Who gave you permission? How did you get here?"

"Mrs Hooper said we could come. She bought the train tickets. She's over there."

He pointed to the woman at the other side of the room and Mycroft shook his head.

"Irresponsible, utterly irresponsible," he muttered, "Did you get consent from Mother or Father?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked down guiltily.

"Sherlock, don't tell me you came here without getting permission."

"I _had_ to come!" the younger sibling wailed, "It's important! Carl Powers-"

"I will have to phone Mummy about this. You can stay the night, but first thing tomorrow morning I am escorting you to the train station."

Sherlock glowered at his brother. He grabbed hold of Molly's hand, making her gasp, and pulled her away, running quickly. Mycroft stood and called out to him but he didn't bother running after him, as Sherlock was incredibly fast and light on his feet.

The two children sprinted as fast as their legs would take them. Molly struggled to keep up. Sherlock called out to Mrs Hooper, who tried her best to follow them.

"You said you had your parents' permission!" Molly squealed.

"I lied," Sherlock shouted back, "I had to. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to come."

They kept running until they were safely out of the university grounds. Molly collapsed to the floor against a wall, panting. Sherlock paced around for a bit, getting his breath back.

"I hate him." he mumbled.

"Who?" Molly asked.

"Mycroft of course. He treats me like I'm a child. I'll show him. We're going to do this, Molly, we're going to the police station and we're going to tell them everything."

* * *

Mrs Hooper had some harsh words for Sherlock when she eventually caught up. However, being the kind woman that she was, she forgave him for lying and said they could stay in London. She hadn't heard the conversation between the boys, so she had no idea that Mycroft was planning to call their mother.

"We can go to the police station in the morning," she told the children, "We need to rest now. We'll get a cab to take us back to the hotel."

"Sorry about the wasted journey," Sherlock said regretfully.

"It's okay, dear, you're the one who paid for it."

* * *

They arrived at the hotel a while later. The room only had one single and one double bed.

"Am I sleeping with you, Grandma?" Molly questioned, biting her nails.

"No, no, I'll be sleeping in the single," Mrs Hooper replied, "You can share a bed with Sherlock, if that's alright with both of you."

Sherlock and Molly stared at each other for a second.

"That's fine with me," answered the former, still staring intently at his friend, "I probably won't be able to sleep anyway."

"The restlessness of teenagers," Mrs Hooper laughed, "What about you, Molls? Is that okay?"

The girl gulped. "Y-yes, it's fine," she said quietly, "I-I don't mind sharing."

Sherlock flashed her a friendly smile.

* * *

Once they had dressed into their nightwear, the three of them got settled into bed. Both Molly and Mrs Hooper got to sleep almost straight away. Sherlock was left awake, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He could hear the soft sound of Molly breathing. She looked incredibly peaceful beside him. He carefully moved a few inches closer to her. She moved around in her sleep, settling onto her side so her head was resting on Sherlock's chest. He smiled and gently stroked her chestnut hair.

_Tomorrow is going to be a big day_, he thought, _I'm glad I'm not here alone._

* * *

**Sherlolly! :D**

**More will come soon.**

**I'll keep this short...**

**Short...**

**Short...**

***trails off***

**Bye guys! Thanks for reading! :)**


	12. The Little French Café

**Allô mes amis! Another chapter for you today! I've gone all French today because we got out French exam results back... Um... I did... _Okay_...**

**I love the sound of French and I love French food and French people but in general French is _hard_.**

**Because _spellings_ and _pronunciation_.**

**Merci beaucoup for all of those lovely reviews! Some of them this time were really long and really nice. I appreciate all you new guys coming to read this! Seriously I'm having so much fun writing this...**

**Thanks guys and here it is! :D**

* * *

They woke fairly early – around seven o'clock. Molly was the first to stir. She awoke to find herself lying extremely close to Sherlock, with her head on his chest and his arm around her waist. Her heart raced like an engine; out of control, never stopping. His proximity to her made her palms sweat and she nibbled on her lip nervously. She couldn't take her eyes off him. His breathing was slow and relaxed. He was totally vulnerable to the world around him, and _innocent_. The image caused her small pink lips to form a smile.

Mrs Hooper was the next to be roused from her rest. She sat up in the bed and peered over at the two children. The sight was heart-warming. It was lovely to see such a blossoming friendship between the pair of them, especially at her time of life.

_That's more than friendship, _she thought to herself, smiling, _it's just a question of how long it will take them to realise._

"Molly," she said to her granddaughter. Molly raised her head and looked up at her with a sweet smile. "Try and wake Sherlock. We've got a busy day ahead."

Molly gave Sherlock's arm a gentle poke. She waited a few seconds. When he didn't react, she tried again, a little harder. This time he let out a groan and rolled onto his side.

"Sherlock," she whispered, "It's time to wake up. Sherlock. Sherlock?"

His eyelids slowly opened, revealing the bright blue eyes beneath them.

"What time is it?" the boy asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Seven-ish," replied Molly, "We have to get out of bed. Carl Powers, remember?"

Sherlock nodded and used his arms to push him into an upright position.

"I'll get changed in the bathroom and you…" He wasn't sure whether to say 'girls' or 'women' or something else, "_Females_ can dress in here."

"That's fine," Mrs Hooper told him, "Hurry up. The more time we spend dawdling, the less time we'll have at the police station."

Sherlock stood up and wandered over to his suitcase. He took out some clothes and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

Once he was dressed in his brown shorts and pale green shirt, Sherlock emerged from the small bathroom and walked back to the main room. The hotel room the three of them were sharing was not at all large, nor was it luxurious, but Sherlock appreciated the fact that Mrs Hooper had spent her own money on their accommodation. It was for his own purposes, after all. If it wasn't for her, he didn't know how he and Molly would have got to London.

"Are we going straight to the station?" he inquired, perching on the end of his and Molly's bed.

"Hold your horses, we need to eat breakfast first!" Mrs Hooper chuckled, "I've never liked hotel food. There's a café just down the road that looks perfect. It's only a short walk."

* * *

Mrs Hooper had been right when she said it was a short walk. It took the three of them less than a minute to trek to the quaint French café at the end of the street. It was a pleasant place with a cosy interior. The warm colours gave the room a sense of summer.

"You can order your own food," Mrs Hooper told the children, "Communication is good skill to learn. You first, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up at the large menu on the wall. All of the dishes were written in French, but that wasn't a problem considering he had been learning the language since he was four years old; his mother was half French.

"Je voudrais un peu de pain grillé et un verre de lait, s'il vous plaît?" he asked the woman behind the counter (she was called Émilie-Jean – it said so on her nametag – so he deduced she must be French).

Émilie-Jean smiled broadly at him. "Oui, bien sûr." she replied with a wink.

As she wrote the order in her notebook, Molly asked Sherlock: "What did you order?"

"Some toast and a glass of milk," he replied, shrugging his shoulders like it was obvious.

Molly's mouth formed an 'o' shape. She looked baffled by the strange words that had come out of her friend's mouth.

"And what did _she_ say?" she queried.

"'Yes, of course.'"

"Molly," Mrs Hooper said, interrupting their conversation, "What would you like to eat?"

The girl chewed on the end of her thumb as she stared up at the menu, trying to translate everything.

"Can I have a croissant please?" she asked. She pronounced it 'crossont'. Sherlock smiled at her mistake. Somehow it sounded sweet.

"Certainly, Mademoiselle, one _croissant_ coming right up," Émilie-Jean made it obvious how the word was supposed to sound, "A drink?"

"Um… Orange juice, please."

"And I'll have a_ pain au chocolat,_" Mrs Hooper told, "With a cup of your finest black coffee."

Émilie-Jean nodded curtly and scribed the two new orders down. She called something French into the kitchen (Sherlock translated it as 'customers are waiting') as Mrs Hooper got out the money from her purse. The young woman counted each coin, making sure all of the money was there. A man came from the kitchen. She ripped the page of the notebook and gave it to him.

"Please, take a seat. We will bring your food and drink over."

* * *

"Teach me some French," Molly requested eagerly.

Sherlock lifted the glass of milk from his lips and shook his head. "What's the point? You learn it in school, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it's different when you're the one teaching me. I _like_ you."

"And you don't like your teacher?" Sherlock asked, laughing.

"No, of course not, he's _horrible_!" giggled Molly, "And he smells of… Apples."

"Don't be rude, Molly," her grandmother scolded, stirring the sugar into her coffee. She wasn't being serious, of course. She would probably say similar.

"I wasn't being rude!" Molly responded, "I was just _saying_."

"I know, I know."

"So, teach me some French."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the sound of Émilie-Jean placing a plate down onto the table. It was Mrs Hooper's pain au chocolat. She then gave Molly her croissant and finally gave Sherlock his toast.

"Enjoy your meals," she said, and then walked off briskly.

"She's engaged," Sherlock informed in a hushed voice, "She plays the flute and she's got a dog."

"How can you tell?" Molly asked, confused.

"She's wearing an engagement ring but not a wedding ring, that's how I know she's engaged. I can tell she plays the flute from the shape of her jaw and the bend in the little finger on her right hand. And it's obvious she has a dog from the grey hairs on her legs."

The Hoopers looked astonished. "Sherlock," said the younger one of the two, "That was _very_ impressive. You've been working on your deduction skills, haven't you?"

He nodded proudly.

"I couldn't have figured out any of that," Mrs Hooper told, "Well, maybe the engagement ring bit, but I wasn't really paying attention anyway."

"Shall we eat now?" Sherlock asked, surprised at his own hunger. If he wasn't careful he'd start to sound like Mycroft.

_Mycroft_! He had almost forgotten about yesterday. He sincerely hoped that his brother wouldn't call their parents. He couldn't imagine how angry his father would be… Well, actually he _could_, and that was what scared him.

* * *

"Petit déjeuner," Sherlock said to Molly as they walked out of the café.

She looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?"

"Breakfast," he answered, and they both laughed.

* * *

**Wow. I don't know what half of that French gibberish means. I only remember toast because pain grille makes me think of a burger being grilled and suffering immense pain...**

**Whoa, murderous thoughts there... And I'm a vegetarian...**

**Okay!**

**Thanks for reading and as ever I appreciate everything from views to re-views to reviews... Um...**

**Okay byyyeeeee!**

**:D**

**EDIT: Thanks to RubyRosette5 for correcting my French! I suck, I know ;)**


	13. Policemen and Brothers

**Guys, I've written another chapter for you!**

**This is the end of the Carl Powers case, and (as you may have guessed) it ends pretty badly. Poor Sherlock wanted the police to listen to him so badly.**

**Thanks to you guys who read and reviewed! Especially thanks to those newcomers once again, because you're the people who boost my views and reviews and, well, everything!**

**This chapter includes our favourite umbrella-wielding cake-loving older brother, and Sherlock sees someone who will be important in his future... See if you can spot who it is! They are only mentioned briefly.**

**Thanks for reading everyone! :D**

* * *

Half an hour. That was how long it took Mrs Hooper to convince the Detective Inspector that he should listen to Sherlock. It took another twenty minutes for him to actually finish what he was doing. At this point, Sherlock and Molly were sat in the waiting area of the police station. Sherlock had to keep stopping Molly from drifting off to sleep by tapping her arm.

"Right then, what possible reason could you have for wasting my time on this fine Saturday morning?" the inspector asked. He sounded annoyed.

Sherlock took the folded piece of newspaper from his pocket and opened it out. He passed it to the detective, who studied it for a moment.

"Carl Powers," he muttered, "I remember. The kid who drowned in a pool after having a seizure," The man looked up at Sherlock, "You're gonna tell me it was murder." It was a statement, not a question.

"His shoes were missing," Sherlock informed, "Why would his shoes be missing unless someone had taken them?"

"So someone decided to nick his shoes. Your point is…?"

"Somebody stole his locker key and took the shoes," the boy explained, "If they wanted to steal something from him, they would have taken something else. Like his shirt. That could have been easily concealed in a bag. Shoes are not so easy to hide. Do you understand so far?"

The inspector furrowed his brows and nodded, irritated that he was being questioned by a _child._

"Why would someone risk being caught unless they had a good reason for taking the shoes? Inference: The shoes had something to do with the murder."

There was silence for a few moments. Sherlock smiled smugly at his own deduction.

"Carl Powers wasn't murdered, kid," said the inspector, "It was an unfortunate accident, that's all. The autopsy was clear."

"No, no, no!" Sherlock yelled, "You've got it _wrong_! Carl Powers was murdered!"

"What was the motive, then?"

"I don't know," the teenager admitted, "But you have to try the autopsy again, so that you know for certain-"

"No, sorry, we've already filed the report. You may leave now."

Sherlock tried to protest further, but Mrs Hooper put a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled him away. Molly followed, casting a quick smile at the inspector before she left. He nodded curtly in response.

As they walked down the corridor, Sherlock noticed a young policeman looking at him curiously. He had scruffy brown hair and a very distinctly shaped nose. He smiled briefly, probably trying to appear friendly. Sherlock scowled at him irritably and continued walking alongside his companions.

* * *

"It's not fair," he mumbled once they got outside, "No-one ever listens to what I have to say."

"You're a child, Sherlock," Mrs Hooper replied, "They were never going to take you seriously."

"Then why did you bring us here in the first place?"

The woman sighed. "Because I wanted you to have an adventure," she told, "I didn't want to let you down."

Sherlock didn't know how to respond.

"Grandma," Molly said quietly, "Can we go back to the hotel now?"

"Don't you pair want something to eat?"

Sherlock and Molly looked at each other for a second. They turned back to Mrs Hooper and shook their heads.

"Can we go _home_?" Sherlock queried.

"We've still got another day here," Mrs Hooper informed them, "But I suppose we can get the train back today. The return ticket doesn't specify a date. I just reckoned you'd like to spend more time in London."

"N-no, I want to go home now, too," Molly told, tears forming in her eyes.

The woman hugged them both and they made for the main road, where she hailed a cab.

* * *

They returned to the hotel with the intention of getting their bags, paying for their stay and leaving at once. None of them anticipated that there would be someone waiting in the room for them.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mycroft?!" Sherlock asked, feeling his blood start to boil.

"You should _not_ have run away from me yesterday, Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft snapped back, sounding infuriated.

"How did you get in?" inquired the younger brother.

Mycroft waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Irrelevant," he replied, "You are coming with me this instant, do you understand? Fortunately for you there was no answer when I called home yesterday evening. But I will make sure that you are punished for this, brother."

The way he called him 'brother' reminded Sherlock of how his father only referred to him as 'son' or 'boy', and it made him incredibly angry.

"Mrs Hooper, I am sorry for the confusion," Mycroft continued, looking at the woman, "I am aware that you thought Sherlock had permission for this trip, but he did not. I am just glad that nothing happened to him."

"You wouldn't care if Molly got hurt, would you?" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

Mycroft looked at him, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"You don't care about her," the boy continued, "You don't care about either of them. You're just polite to them so you don't cause any arguments, because I know how much you can't _stand_ confrontation. It wouldn't change anything for _you_ if they got hurt."

Mycroft swallowed. "You're right. It wouldn't make a pennyworth of a difference to me if Miss Hooper or her grandmother were hurt. But I would _care_ because I know you would be upset, and you're my little brother."

Sherlock glared at him. "Stop pretending you care about me because you obviously don't."

Mycroft looked visually hurt by the assumption. "Of course I care about you."

"You see? You're doing it again! Leave me alone, Mycroft."

The young man walked briskly over to him and grabbed him by the arm. He started to pull him away, but Sherlock was stronger than he remembered and managed to wriggle free.

"I _hate_ you!" he yelled. He remembered the last time he had said those three terrible words, all of those years ago when Father had lost his temper. He didn't care this time - he meant it.

"Come with me _now_," Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock turned to look at Molly. 'Just go,' she mouthed to him.

* * *

Once they were on the train (first class, this time, as Mycroft wouldn't settle for anything less) Sherlock stared out of the window and completely ignored anything his brother had to say. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about Molly. Right now she was in a third class carriage on a train several miles away on a completely different track.

The image of her smiling stuck in his mind. She had such a lovely smile. It was so sweet, but not so much that it looked fake. He could see her pearly white teeth and little pink lips. He desperately wanted to be with her now. There was a longing deep inside of him to take her hands in his own and whisper kind words to her. He'd tell her how much he cared about her, then he'd lean down to her until their lips were almost touching and he would…

He got rid of the though quickly, his heart beating at a pace he didn't think was possible. He didn't understand where these thoughts had come from. He must be going mad, he decided.

* * *

**So Sherlock thinks falling in love is the same thing as insanity. **

**Did you spot out familiar face? Easy to do considering there was only one person it could actually be...**

**I feel sorry for Mycroft now.**

**The next few chapters will be set in the later teenage years. And _actual_ Sherlolly will be there, people!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Hev :) xx**


	14. Bound To Happen - Part One

**Hey guys! This is chapter fourteen, the start of Adolescent!Lock. I did say it would be teenlock, but it's virtually the same thing, and hey Molly's nearly thirteen!**

**This is the first part of a few chapters explaining Sherlock and Molly's experiences during puberty. This is mainly Sherlock-centered. The next chapter will have more Molly, and they will be a couple of years older.**

**Ready for pubescent Sherlock?**

**You better be!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As always, it means a lot!**

**And here's a shout out to my mate Flo, who is currently in the process of reading this! I've totally brainwashed her with fanfiction... Meh. We're the nerdy ones among our friends ;)**

**Thanks guys! :)**

* * *

After the trip to London, Sherlock had been severely punished by his father (he still had the bruises to prove it) and reprimanded by his brother, and he wasn't allowed to visit Molly for a whole week. His mother didn't seem to care that he had gone off to the city by himself. She didn't seem to care about much nowadays. Sherlock hadn't seen her smile for years.

The weeks passed, and soon it was the summer holidays. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as he walked out of the school gates for the last time until September. The holidays meant beautiful summer weather, time to himself and, more importantly, time with his dear friend Molly Hooper.

He hadn't anticipated that the summer would bring a whole array of complications.

* * *

"Sherlock, breakfast is ready," Mycroft told his brother as he walked into his bedroom. Sherlock was sprawled over the bed with his head buried in the pillow and an arm hanging over the side of the mattress.

"Sherlock, get out of bed," Mycroft continued, his voice a little sterner.

There was no reaction from Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and moved towards the bed. He grasped hold of his brother's bare feet and pulled him from under the covers. Sherlock groaned irritably and grabbed onto the side of the bed.

"Sherlock, grow up and get out of bed _now_," ordered Mycroft, "You can't stay up here forever."

"Yes I can," Sherlock mumbled into the pillow, "Go away, Mycroft."

Mycroft sighed and let go. Sherlock's feet dropped back onto the mattress with a _thud_.

"Fine," said the older sibling, annoyed, "You stay here. I guess I'll have to eat your breakfast for you."

"Oh, that sounds like absolute _torture_," Sherlock muttered sarcastically.

The only response was the sound of the door slamming shut.

* * *

When Sherlock eventually _did_ decide to come downstairs, lunch was already being prepared by their new housekeeper, Victoria, who had been employed a few months ago. The family had hired several different housekeepers, but none of them seemed up to scratch so far. Victoria was a considerably better cook than the rest, which was probably the reason Mycroft liked her so much.

Sherlock found the two of them together in the kitchen. Victoria was stood by the oven and Mycroft was perched on the table with his legs crossed.

"Oh, you _finally_ decided to join us," Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow, "What took you so long?"

Sherlock shrugged and started to rummage through the kitchen cupboards, looking for something he could eat.

"If you'd have come down when I told you to you would have been able to eat breakfast with us," Mycroft continued, "Victoria made pancakes. They were delicious."

Victoria giggled and blushed nervously. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I don't like pancakes," he murmured, nibbling on the custard cream he had found in the biscuit tin.

"You liked them last week," Mycroft replied, shaking his head, "I wish you would make up your mind about what you do like and what you do not."

"Well, I definitely don't like you," countered Sherlock, "And I _definitely_ don't like Victoria. She's insufferable."

At this, Mycroft rose from where he was sat and looked down at his brother with an irritated expression. A year or so ago Sherlock was up to Mycroft's chest, and now he almost came up to his chin. This one fact annoyed the older brother slightly, as for years he had been much taller than Sherlock and now the boy was growing at an incredibly fast pace.

"Listen," Mycroft hissed, "You do not talk about Victoria like that, do you understand?"

"Oh, shut up, Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped in response, "You're just an idiot and… And you need to go on a diet."

"Where did that come from?" asked Mycroft, not sure whether to be angry or laugh.

"It's true," his younger brother continued, "You're morbidly obese and you eat too much cake and-"

"Sherlock, I am _not_ morbidly obese. Stop being ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. You're the one being ridiculous. You're both ridiculous. Go away."

Sherlock stormed out of the room and into the hallway. He turned around when he realised the door was still open and slammed it shut, before continuing through the hall.

* * *

Later on that week, Molly and Sherlock met on the road beside Holmes Manor and made their way towards Molly's cottage.

"So, what have you been up to?" Molly questioned, smiling happily at her friend.

"Oh, nothing much, I've just been staying at home…"

Sherlock paused and furrowed his brows, confused by the peculiar sounds that had come out of his mouth. At the start of the sentence, his voice had sounded extremely low compared to usual, but by the last few words it sounded like he was squeaking.

Molly cast him a puzzled expression. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I've just been staying at home," He was glad to learn that his voice was back to normal, "Experimenting, reading, playing my violin. Just the usual…" His voice went high again for a moment, "The usual stuff."

There was silence for a few seconds and then Molly burst into laughter.

"It's not funny!" Sherlock wailed.

"It is a little bit," Molly giggled, "Your voice must be breaking, Sherlock."

"It's alright for you girls," her friend moaned, "You don't have to put up with anything as bad as this."

Molly glared at him. "Yes we _do_," she replied, "In fact, we have to put up with _worse_. That's what Grandma told me."

"That's not true at all!" Sherlock retorted, "What could _possibly_ be worse than your voice breaking? I sounded like an idiot, and it lasts for _ages_!" He remembered when Mycroft's voice broke. He was about six or seven, and he recalled laughing at his brother for it. Was this what would happen to him? He'd be _laughed_ at? Would Mycroft _laugh_ at him?

His companion sighed. "A few months is not ages, Sherlock Holmes," she said sternly, "And it's hardly _bad_, it's only your voice."

They continued the argument all the way to Molly's house. Molly was surprised to learn exactly how little Sherlock knew about the opposite gender, even though he was supposed to have learnt about it in school. Maybe they didn't learn about girls in boys only schools? She wasn't sure, but either way his ignorance was shocking.

* * *

Sherlock refused to speak to Mrs Hooper when they arrived, in case his vocal chords decided to humiliate him again. Molly explained the situation to her grandmother, who laughed and said: "It had to happen at some point."

The two adolescents made their way up the stairs and into Molly's bedroom. Molly collapsed onto her bed with a sigh and Sherlock stood in the corner, leaning against the wall.

"You're silly," Molly stated, staring up at the ceiling, "Your voice breaking is nothing to be embarrassed about."

Sherlock frowned. "You don't have to suffer through it. You don't have to go through anything as bad as this."

Molly didn't bother trying to convince him otherwise this time.

* * *

It was during one of Molly's visits to Holmes Manor (they were a regular occurrence now) that Mycroft began to notice shifts in Sherlock's behaviour. He observed that he now looked at Molly that was not only affection but also _attraction_. He had become extremely protective of her and, Mycroft witnessed, was constantly trying to get her attention. Whether Sherlock himself was aware of any of these facts was still a mystery.

Mycroft decided to confront his brother about it once Molly had returned home.

"I am _not_ attracted to her!" Sherlock protested, in response to Mycroft's assumption, "That's absurd!"

"Sherlock, I understand. You're a teenager, these things are bound to happen-"

"No! No, I'm not…" The boy cleared his throat and Mycroft smiled at the sudden change in pitch, "I'm not attracted to Molly."

"Hmm…"

There was something about the noise which told Sherlock that Mycroft wasn't convinced.

* * *

**What did you think?**

**My knowledge of boys' puberty is limited (well, duh) so I hope I've done it justice. Had to get some advice from some males I know (well, one male I know, actually). Boys, men or even girls tell me if I've got anything wrong! **

**Thanks everybody!**

**Hev :D**


	15. Bound To Happen - Part Two

**Hey everyone! Bit of a delay in posting, I know. It's the half term now so I can dedicate time to updating!**

**This is chapter fifteen, the second adolescent!lock chapter. This is mainly about how Molly is changed by puberty physically, but it also includes hints about Sherlock's change in attitude. The first two sections are when Sherlock's fourteen and Molly is thirteen, and in the other sections they are both a year older.**

**There's a government related joke (haha Mycroft).**

**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews! They always make me smile and give me a motivational boost!**

**Thanks for reading and here it is:**

* * *

Molly sighed as she peered out of her bedroom window. A white blanket of snow had formed on the ground overnight. There was a little robin sat on the window ledge, which had been decorated with colourful lights.

She used to love Christmas. The food was always a luxury, and she treasured the time she spent playing in the snow with her father… Of course, all of that had changed. It had been seven long years since her dad died. Christmas never seemed appealing anymore. The snow was just grey sludge underfoot and Christmas dinner tasted like any other roast.

She knew that Sherlock despised the Christmas period. He was the person who had destroyed most of her festive spirit. He was the one who told her Santa Claus wasn't real, and he was the one who thought present giving was a ridiculous tradition. Molly tried to ignore his complaints every year, but it was always hard to block out the sound of his voice.

Mrs Hooper had invited Sherlock to join them for Christmas dinner, which was what she had done every Christmas for the past six years. Despite his grievances about Christmas itself, the boy always seemed to enjoy the food, and it was no secret that he loved spending time with Molly.

This year Sherlock noticed that Molly was acting strangely. She was unusually fidgety, like there was something bothering her. He asked her what was wrong and she snapped at him, before running out of the room, embarrassed.

"That was weird," he said aloud, and Mrs Hooper laughed.

"Don't take it personally. It's just that time," the woman replied.

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "You mean Christmas?" he inquired.

Mrs Hooper shook her head. "No, love, I… You know what, why don't you ask Molly?"

"I already tried that and she shouted at me. Honestly, I will never understand girls."

Molly peered around the door and smiled sheepishly at her grandmother.

"I'll leave you two alone for a bit," Mrs Hooper told, "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Once she had left the room, Molly took a seat beside Sherlock and gingerly handed him a small parcel.

"Sorry about… That," she began, "Um, this is just a little something I wanted to give you."

Sherlock unwrapped the present carefully. Inside was a white handkerchief, with his initials sewn into the bottom right corner with scarlet thread. He looked up at Molly and smiled.

"It's not much," the girl told him, shifting into a more comfortable position, "But I tried to make it special. Do you like it?"

"It's great," Sherlock stated, before adding: "But I didn't get you anything."

Molly shook her head. "Having you as my friend is the best present I could wish for."

They both smiled at each other for a moment. Sherlock noticed a sparkle in the corner of Molly's eyes.

"Why did you run off like that?" he questioned.

"I-I was just… I was just getting your present," Molly answered, looking away, "I think I'll go and help Grandma in the kitchen. Y-you stay here."

With that she hurried off again, leaving Sherlock bewildered.

* * *

Sherlock put his ear against the kitchen door, trying to listen into the conversation.

"It's not fair, Grandma," he heard Molly sigh.

"I know, Molly, but it was bound to happen at some point," Mrs Hooper replied, "You know I'm here for you, don't you?"

"It's just Sherlock," Molly continued, "I don't know how to tell him."

"Tell me what?" the teenager asked, appearing inside the room. Molly gasped and turned away, mortified. Mrs Hooper scowled at him.

"Sherlock," she said brusquely, "We were having a private conversation."

"Well,_ I_ didn't know it was private, did I?" Sherlock retorted, folding his arms.

"Now, you listen here young man, I will _not_ accept that sort of behaviour in my home."

Sherlock had never seen her so cross before. She was normally just sweet old Mrs Hooper, but now she was scaring him a little, despite the fact she was a lot shorter and more fragile than he was.

"Grandma," Molly interrupted, her voice gentle as always, "It doesn't matter."

Mrs Hooper stared at Sherlock for a few seconds, before turning around to her granddaughter, sighing and nodding her head.

* * *

As they were walking back to Holmes Manor, Molly stopped in her tracks and started biting her fingernails nervously.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He hated seeing her upset. Molly smiled when he heard his low and sophisticated voice, which she still wasn't used to after a year of him having it.

"Sherlock, you know how we had that conversation when your voice started breaking?" Molly whispered, "When we were talking about how puberty was different for boys and girls?"

Sherlock nodded. "I remember that, yes."

"Well, you acted like you didn't know anything about girls, but you must do," stated his friend, "You must know what happens to girls when they get older."

Sherlock considered it for a moment. "_That's_ what you're talking about, of course," he said, once he had realised, "Yes, Mycroft told me about it once, when I asked why out mother was in such an irritable mood. What has that got to do with anything?"

The girl gulped and looked away.

"Oh," Sherlock continued, not knowing what else to say, "You've started your-"

"_Please_ don't tell anyone," Molly cut in, "I'm only telling you because I know I can trust you. I've been trying to find the right words all day, but it never sounded right in my head."

Sherlock blinked. He searched his mind for a response, but there was nothing. He didn't know how to deal with the situation - this one was new to him.

"Okay," he said after a while.

"Okay," Molly echoed, smiling.

* * *

Six months later, in the midst of the summer, Sherlock and Molly were sat on the swings in the local park, both silent. Sherlock had begun to notice that Molly was… Changing. It wasn't just the whole period thing (even now it was still an awkward conversation). She was beginning to look less like a girl and more like a woman. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He looked at her, his mind racing like an engine. He never knew it was possible to be thinking about so many things at once, although all of them had one thing in common – Molly.

After a while she picked up on the fact he was staring and looked down at the floor embarrassedly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, her voice as quiet as a mouse's squeak.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I don't know, I was just thinking."

The corners of Molly's mouth twitched as she resisted a smile. "Thinking about what?" she queried, looking up and making eye contact with him.

Sherlock felt his heart flutter. He hated how she could make him feel dizzy just by looking at him. Her eyes were… Mesmerising.

"Mycroft," he lied, "I was thinking about Mycroft. He's graduated from Oxford now and he's been employed as a servant or something."

"You mean a civil servant?" Molly chuckled, "Someone who works for the government?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Yeah, that."

They sat in silence, and Sherlock found his gaze drifting towards Molly again. She gave him a gentle slap on the arm and laughed, her cheeks a light shade of pink.

"Stop it!" she giggled, "It's making me self-conscious."

"You shouldn't feel self-conscious," Sherlock muttered, "You look incredible."

He didn't look at her, but somehow he could tell that she was smiling.

* * *

He couldn't stop thinking about her as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The whole house was silent, but his thoughts were loud and distracting. Molly's smile always lit up the room in a way that no lamp could, but her eyes were so dark Sherlock often lost himself in them. She had such a kind-hearted nature – one that nobody could help falling in love with…

* * *

_He hadn't been expecting her, but as soon as Molly walked through the door Sherlock felt like she was meant to be there. He cupped her chin in his hands and pressed their lips together firmly. Molly let out a moan of pleasure. The kiss was passionate and rough, lasting little more than a few seconds but it was more than enough to satisfy Sherlock's intense yearning for her…_

* * *

Sherlock woke suddenly and jolted upright, panting. His heart was beating at a speed which hardly seemed possible. He felt something inside of him – a feeling like no other which excited him and terrified him at the same time.

For some reason he found himself wishing that he hadn't been dreaming.

* * *

**Oh dear. So Sherlock had a 'dream' about Molly. Hmm, right.**

**What did you think? Comments are always appreciated. I love every single one of you lovely people, by the way. Even the smelly ones (that's you, Flo, if you're reading).**

**Thanks again and see you soooooonnnn!**

**Hev ;) xxx**


	16. Fighting Battles

**Hello guys. This is chapter sixteen (half of thirty-two according to my calculator). Some sad stuff happens, and Sherlock once again can't stop thinking about Molly whilst he is lying in bed... Um...**

**Thanks for everyone who reviewed once again! Wow, I've looked at them all and they are all brilliant. Thank you.**

**Oh, and I've just seen the SAMFA finalists. Three or four there that I voted for. Not saying which ;)**

**Thanks for reading again! :)**

**Oh and I upped the rating because you can never be too careful...**

* * *

He could tell that she had been crying as soon as he saw her. Her eyes were red and sore. She looked tired, and she sniffled a couple of times before speaking.

"H-hello Sherlock," she greeted, smiling weakly.

"Molly, what's the matter?" Sherlock questioned, concerned, "You've been crying."

"I-it's Tilly," Molly replied, "We took her to the vet last night because she hasn't been herself recently, a-and they had to… They had to…"

She started weeping. Sherlock put his arms around her and held her close to him, taking a deep breath as he did so.

"I'm… Sorry," he said, unsure, "At least she didn't have to suffer…"

"That's what Grandma said," told Molly, breaking the embrace, "I've known for a long time that I was losing her. Sh-she had a good life though. A happy one."

"I suppose that makes all the difference," Sherlock stated, "Better to live a happy life than a sad one."

Molly nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I guess."

They stood in silence for a moment. Sherlock wasn't sure if he cared that Matilda was dead. It sounded cruel, but she was just a cat. He had never been particularly close to her, and things like this never really upset him anyway. Not anymore.

"Sherlock," Molly continued, "Thank you."

"What for?" Sherlock questioned, puzzled.

"I don't know. Being here, I guess. Being my friend."

Sherlock felt a lump form in his throat as he thought about how he wanted to be so much more than just her friend. He had to fight the urge to kiss her.

* * *

When he arrived home, Sherlock found his mother crying quietly in the living room. He sighed. Obviously this had something to do with his father.

"Mother?" he said uncertainly.

"Oh, Sherlock," Violet sniffed, "My boy Sherlock. Goodness, how you have grown! It seems like only yesterday that you were-"

"Mother, what has he done?" Sherlock inquired, interrupting her.

"Who?"

"Father."

Mrs Holmes took a deep breath and shook her head.

"He's not the man I married," she sighed, "He's not the same man I fell in love with. He's been drinking again, Sherlock. Drinking _a lot_."

"What has he said? Has he hurt you?" Sherlock asked, worried.

"No, no, we've just been arguing. He threatened to leave, but I know he never would. It would damage his… His reputation." She let out a laugh. "That's all he cares about, you know. Himself. He never thinks of the consequences of anything."

"Certainly didn't think of the consequences when he slept with our housekeeper," Sherlock muttered.

"That was a long time ago," Violet reminded him, sounding defensive, "But yes, you're right. He didn't think. He is exceptionally bright, but sometimes he simply does not _think_."

Sherlock tried to think of a way to change the subject. "How's Mycroft?" he asked, although he wasn't particularly interested in his brother's welfare

"He's getting on well, he told me. His new position is a very important one, you know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't care about the government. He didn't care about a lot of things, actually.

"I saw Molly today," he informed, "Her cat died. She was crying. I hugged her. That's good, isn't it?"

"Oh, Sherlock," his mother chuckled, "Yes, hugging is good. Most of the time. Probably not when she's angry, but when she's upset it's definitely a good thing."

"I like hugging her," Sherlock told, "I like making her feel better. It makes me feel like I'm protecting her."

He stopped himself from saying anything else, making sure he didn't reveal too much about his feelings for Molly. He could go on for _days_ about how much he cared about her, but he doubted that his mother would listen.

* * *

By the end of the school year, Sherlock was extremely irritable. Weeks of exams had exhausted him.

"I'll be starting college next term," he mumbled, resting his head on his fist, "I can't be bothered with school anymore. It's tedious."

Molly, who had come to visit her friend at Holmes Manor, sighed.

"And it's kind of vital for your future," she replied, "I bet you'll have done great in your GCSEs. I'm _so_ nervous about mine next year."

"You'll pass with flying colours," Sherlock stated, like it was a definite fact.

"Hopefully," Molly said forlornly.

* * *

The day finally arrived for Sherlock to get his GCSE exam results back. He stared at the list of grades, only interested in a few of the subjects. He smiled as he observed that most of his grades were A Star. His eyes moved down to English literature and he frowned, annoyed (but not disappointed, because he honestly didn't care) to learn that he had received a D.

"What did you do wrong, then?" Molly asked him, later on that week. She was sat, cross-legged, at the foot of Sherlock's bed, whilst he lay on the mattress.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, "My work is usually exemplary."

Molly rolled her eyes at his arrogance. "Have you got any idea why you got such a low mark?"

Sherlock pondered for a moment. "Well, I suppose, the books might have had something to do with it."

"The books?"

"We had to read certain books for the course."

Molly stayed silent for a moment, brows furrowed. "And… Did you?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I started to read one of them," he told her, "Got bored after the first chapter so I stopped."

"Sherlock!" his friend gasped, turning her head to face him, "No wonder you did badly. I'm surprised you didn't fail."

"I didn't see the point in reading the books," Sherlock retorted childishly, "They all had boring titles, boring summaries, boring _everything_. What use is a GCSE in _literature_, anyway?"

"You used to read all the time," sighed Molly.

"I still do," the curly-haired boy replied, "But I only read books about chemistry and human anatomy and other _useful_ things."

"You never got a chance to read _Matilda_," Molly whispered sadly.

Sherlock scoffed. "Molly, if you think I'm going to read it _now_ then you are very much mistaken," he answered, his tone uncharacteristically harsh, "I'm a sixteen-year-old – a very intelligent sixteen-year-old – and that book was written for stupid pre-pubescent girls who know nothing of the real world and care more about their ridiculous stuffed animals than their actual friends."

Molly let out a squeak. A few weeks ago he was comforting her; telling her everything would be alright, wrapping his arms around her... She didn't understand how one week he could be an absolute angel and the next he could transform into the devil himself.

"That's if they really _have_ friends," Sherlock continued (Molly wasn't expecting him to - he had already said enough to hurt her), "Books like that are written for girls who have _no_ friends."

Molly stood up and glared at him resentfully. "Why do you always have to say such dreadful things?" she asked, her eyes shining with tears.

She left the room quickly, without saying another word.

Sherlock sighed and lowered his head.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!" he scolded himself.

* * *

_Why do you always have to say such dreadful things?_

Her words echoed in his head for the rest of the day, and he found he couldn't sleep when night finally arrived.

_I'm such an idiot, _he thought to himself,_ she's supposed to be my friend. She's supposed to be the one person I care about most of all and I always hurt her. How can I hurt her like I do? She's so caring, so innocent, so beautiful..._

He saw her when he closed his eyes. He felt his heart thumping in his chest as he thought about running his fingers through her luxuriant hair, pressing his lips to her neck, sliding his hand around her waist and caressing her smooth skin…

He gulped. He had been trying to resist this for a long time, fighting a battle with himself. This time he couldn't fight back. His body had won.

* * *

**Tilly no! I realised she was kind of getting old and we haven't seen her for a while, so...**

**Oh dear Sherlock. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.**

**Thank you very very very very VERY much for reading and, as I say all the time, I really do appreciate and take on board your comments. Love you guys :)**

**And the next chapter will include a new character. Someone who Molly finds funny, smart and interesting, and Sherlock finds annoying, stupid and boring... And there will be a little bit of jealousy...**

***wink* You'll have to find out for yourselves ;)**

**Hev :D xxx**

**EDIT: Noticed that I said Sherlock was fifteen, but he should be sixteen so I've changed it**


	17. Love and Jealousy

**Hello guys! Chapter seventeen! I have to say I am really enjoying writing this.**

**Thanks so much to all of the reviewers and readers. I wouldn't be doing this without you ;)**

**That mystery male is in this chapter... Hm, yes, when I said Molly finds him funny and interesting... Well, she pretends to.**

**And there's ACTUAL SHERLOLLY OMG.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

* * *

Molly refused to speak to Sherlock. She was clearly angry with him, although Sherlock had known her to get over things like this quickly. Maybe it was his comment mixed in with the death of her cat and the fact that it was her 'time of the month' which had made her take it so badly?

Sherlock didn't care _why_ she didn't speak to him, but not seeing her for days made him incredibly frustrated. He had nobody to talk to except his constantly miserable mother, his aggressive father and their remarkably dull housekeeper. He didn't mind being alone, in fact he loved his own company, but after almost two weeks of boring days and sleepless nights he decided he could not be without Molly any longer.

He sat on the curb a few houses down from hers and waited. Eventually Molly came out of the front door, dressed in one of her flowing summer dresses. Sherlock watched as she practically skipped down the road, giving off an aura of happiness. It puzzled him how she could be so cheerful when at the same time she was livid with him.

The boy followed his friend to the town, occasionally slipping into an alleyway or turning the other way to avoid being noticed. He watched with interested eyes as Molly knocked on the door of a small, terraced house. She stood patiently, tapping her fingertips together and staring down at her smart leather shoes.

After a few moments, the door was opened by a boy with scruffy blond hair, who must have been about Sherlock's age but looked considerably stronger. Sherlock swallowed and clenched his fists as he gave Molly a soft kiss on the cheek, a feeling of jealousy bubbling up inside him.

The pair started walking down the road, nearing closer to Sherlock. He hid behind a rubbish bin, waiting for them to pass by. When the stranger slid his arm around Molly's waist, Sherlock couldn't help emitting a small yelp of envy. This did not go unnoticed by Molly, who was so close to him he could smell the scent of her lavender conditioner.

She looked around, startled. Sherlock held his breath, hoping she wouldn't hear him, but her companion had already seen him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

Molly glared down at him, her lips pursed. Sherlock stood up, wiped the dirt off his black trousers and cleared his throat.

"I apologise if you think I am intruding," he said, flashing them a charming smile, "I was just on a walk through the town, but I needed to stop and tie my shoelaces."

The other boy opened his mouth to reply, but in her anger Molly spoke first: "Sherlock, have you been _following_ me?" she questioned furiously, "Have you been following me _all morning_?"

Sherlock shrugged. The blond boy furrowed his brows and turned to face Molly. "You know this lad? Who is he, Molls?"

_Molls._ Sherlock winced at the pet name. What right did this stranger have to talk to Molly in such a familiar way?

"He's my… He lives near to my house," told Molly, "He's not… We're not…" She trailed off, blushing.

"And who 'the hell' are you?" Sherlock inquired, "Molly's friend? A friend of the family? What?"

"I'm Sam," the boy answered, offering his hand for Sherlock to shake, "I'm Molly's boyfriend."

The word struck him like a dagger in the chest. _Boyfriend_. Sherlock's jaw dropped and he stared at the two of them in shock.

"Y-your boyfriend?" he asked Molly, verbally stumbling for the first time in God knows how long.

Molly nodded and smiled. "Yes, my b-boyfriend." The word didn't seem to roll naturally off her tongue, as if it was unfamiliar territory. Of course, Sherlock knew that Molly had never had a boyfriend before, but he suspected there was something else behind her stuttering.

Sam gently stroked her cheek. Both Sherlock and Molly shuddered.

"Molly, can I have a word with you please?" requested Sherlock.

* * *

He took her to an isolated area, a small lane off the main road. Molly folded her arms, waiting for him to speak.

"How did you meet?" was the first thing Sherlock asked.

"H-he used to go to my school so I've known him for a while," Molly responded, "He kept trying to ask me out, but I kept telling him no-"

"Until a week or so ago when you said yes just to irritate me," Sherlock finished for her. The girl stared at him incredulously. "Not a difficult deduction considering recent events. You said he _used to_ go to your school. How old is he?"

Molly gulped nervously. "He's… He's seventeen."

"Too old," Sherlock muttered to himself.

"He's only two years older than me!" Molly retorted, "It's not that much of a difference and-"

Sherlock placed a finger on her lips, forcing her to stop talking. She squeaked quietly as he touched her, her heart beating a little faster than before.

"Molly, it is clear that you are only dating him to get revenge on me for my remarks the other week, which is ludicrous but understandable. But it is also clear that he is usingyou. Probably can't find a girlfriend his own age so he has resorted to dating someone younger."

"That's not fair," Molly said, but in her heart she knew it was true, "M-maybe he just likes me, unlike _someone_ I know."

She looked up at him, her expression somewhere between anger and hurt.

"Molly, he was all over you before," Sherlock told her, "If you keep dating him he will most likely force you into doing things you _really_ don't want to do, understand?"

"Well, actually he did… He is sort of… Pushy. He can't stop himself."

"Which is exactly why no sane girl will go out with him," Sherlock watched as Molly scowled at him, annoyed, "That excludes you because you agreed to date him for something other than his _delightful_ personality."

The girl chuckled. "Well, he is quite nice, but I guess I shouldn't _really_ be going out with him. I'll have to break up with him. It was never serious, anyway."

"Does that mean we're friends again?"

Molly responded by pulling Sherlock into a hug. He closed his eyes, thankful for the contact with her that he had missed so very much.

* * *

Sam was gone when they went back. Sherlock presumed he had heard the conversation and fled, probably wanting to avoid the unnecessary awkwardness of a break up. Sherlock loathed that type of men – the ones who only did anything for sex. His father seemed to be one of them, although Siger Holmes was also gluttonous for money, respect and power. Mycroft was just greedy for food, or so Sherlock thought, and the boy himself did things to fuel his own ego and for the welfare of the people he cared about. Not necessarily in that order.

Molly linked arms with Sherlock and rested her head on the side of his arm. He couldn't help smiling.

"I was never really _that_ angry with you, by the way," she informed him, "I just… I don't know. I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine, I suppose. To show you how it feels."

"It's hardly the same, Molly," Sherlock laughed, "You took it to the absolute extreme."

"It wasn't the best idea I ever had," giggled his friend, "But I was always going to forgive you. I couldn't bear not having you in my life. You're my best friend."

"Could we maybe be more than best friends?"

Molly stopped in her tracks and stared up at him. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile.

"H-has it really taken you that long to ask?" she queried.

Sherlock grinned. "That's a yes, then?"

"Oh, Sherlock, you have no idea how long I have been waiting for this."

"Definitely a yes," Sherlock continued.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, unable to stop himself. It was an awkward kiss as neither of them had experienced anything like it before, but for Sherlock it was perfect. There were no tongues involved, no passionate moans like in the movies. In that moment all that mattered was that Sherlock and Molly were finally expressing their love for each other.

* * *

**Sherlolly! Eek! Finally! How I manage to write these kissing scenes I don't know. I've never snogged anyone in my life (oh my god I need to _get_ a life and stop fangirling over Benedict Cumberbatch).**

**Sam may or may not have been named after a short... Person... With large hairy feet... :)**

**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :D**

**Hev :O xx**

**(That's my 'cherish the look of surprise on my face' face by the way)**


	18. A Dance in the Sea

**Hello everyone! Chapter eighteen, and the start of established Sherlolly. I'm really sorry the update took so long. You know, sometimes things just happen and you feel like curling up in a ball and not talking to anyone or doing anything. But I think I'm okay now. At least I'm feeling better, which is always good.**

**In this chapter things get a bit wet... Not in that way! You're all so dirty! :P**

**:) Thank you so much for reading. I love you all.**

* * *

They dated for a few weeks until it was well into the summer holidays. The sun seemed to be constantly shining, as if it was a sign of Molly and Sherlock's happy relationship. It rained only a couple of times and the temperature never dropped below twenty degrees Celsius.

One breezy Friday morning near the end of the holidays, Sherlock took Molly to the train station and told her he had a surprise in store for her. He had been planning it for days, thinking of ways to make it perfect for her. In a way he had always loved her, ever since they first met, and now he had his chance to prove it.

"Sherlock, where are we going?" Molly giggled, smiling up at her boyfriend as they hopped off the platform and onto the train.

"Wait and see," replied Sherlock, "I told you, it's a surprise."

"But I-"

"Molly, it's a _surprise_."

Sherlock laughed a little and led her down the aisle to their first class seats. He held out a hand, gesturing for her to sit down first.

"After you," he said with a curt nod.

Molly smiled thankfully and sat by the window. Sherlock took the seat next to her.

He took hold of her hand and ran his long fingers over her smooth skin, comforting her as the journey began. He knew she had never been fond of trains, ever since her first trip when they were younger. Sherlock remembered the Carl Powers mystery fondly, even though they hadn't gotten anywhere with it. It was his first 'case' and it had made him think about his career choices, specifically as a detective.

"Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?" Molly asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

Sherlock grinned. "You'll find out when we arrive."

His girlfriend sighed and blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. "As long as I'm not disappointed."

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Sherlock questioned. Molly laughed.

* * *

Molly and Sherlock got off the train after about an hour of travelling, with various stops along the way. Molly looked up at Sherlock suspiciously as they walked out of the station and headed towards an isolated country lane.

She sneezed a couple of times as they walked down the dusty road, hand in hand, and she started to rub her eyes.

"Allergies?" Sherlock inquired, looking at her worriedly.

She nodded and sneezed again. "It's the wind, I think, carrying all the pollen," she told, sniffling, "It was really bad when I was little, but then it stopped. Now it's started up again."

She sighed. "I get flu in the winter, hay fever in the summer... It's never ending."

"Drugs," Sherlock said quickly, "Drugs work." He cleared his throat. "Drugs solve everything."

"Not cancer," Molly whispered sadly. She sighed as she remembered watching her father in the hospital. She remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it was many years ago. She had spent over half of her life without him.

Sherlock gulped. "I... Suppose." He looked ahead, trying to find something else to talk about. "We're nearly there, look."

* * *

They arrived at their destination together. Sherlock beamed as he saw Molly's amazed expression. Her mouth was wide open and she held her hand to her chest rather dramatically.

"Oh, Sherlock!" she said excitedly, "You've brought me to the _seaside_!"

"Well, I figured you'd like to visit the beach so I-"

She flung her arms around him as he spoke, squeezing him tightly. "Sherlock, this is the best surprise ever. I love you."

The words set his heart pumping at an incredibly fast speed. "I... I love you too."

He meant it, although it seemed wrong to be saying it out loud. Mycroft had always told him that love was a disadvantage, something which he had believed completely until a few years ago. That was when he first started having doubts about his brother's philosophy.

"Shall we...?"

They walked down to the beach together, Molly a few metres in front. She ran eagerly and Sherlock followed, laughing.

"I can't remember the last time I went to the beach," she called to him.

"Neither can I," Sherlock replied earnestly, "We haven't been on holiday since the... Incident."

He swallowed. He didn't like thinking back to that time, when Mother was always depressed, Father got into drunken rages and Sherlock and Mycroft were always stuck in the middle of it. Mycroft hadn't been much help on the nights when Siger's temper got out of hand. He was always there to comfort Sherlock afterwards, but he never tried to interfere. This fact made Sherlock think that the bruises and cuts were as much Mycroft's fault as they were their father's.

"You okay?" Molly questioned. She had turned back and was looking at him concernedly.

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I was just thinking," he spoke grimly, "About my father, and about Mycroft."

"When _was_ the last time you saw your brother?" asked Molly.

"A while ago. He was supposed to return home for a week but he never came."

They both sighed.

"Has he been in touch?" Molly queried.

Sherlock shook his head. "I have heard Mother on the phone to him several times, but he never wants to speak to me."

"Has he sent any letters?"

The boy shrugged.

"You don't know?" Molly looked confused.

"Mother rarely gives me my post," he told her, "I have to rummage through it all to see if there's anything for me."

"When was the last time you checked?"

"About a month ago."

"Well, maybe when you get home you should check to see if you've got any letters from Mycroft?"

Sherlock nodded. "I will do," he said, "But for now let's just enjoy our time here."

* * *

They ran, barefoot, along the shore for a while, chasing each other whilst laughing merrily. Molly squealed when Sherlock finally caught up with her and picked her up, lifting her up into the air. She giggled as he placed her over his shoulder and started to walk towards the water.

Sherlock put her down and rolled up his trousers. Molly looked at him curiously.

"What are you doing?" she questioned.

He smiled. "Would you care to join me for a paddle?"

Molly giggled and nodded. "I would be delighted to paddle with you," she said, smiling.

They took a few strides forward until the water was up to just above their ankles. It was cold and made Sherlock's feet tingle. He took another step, deliberately too hard so that the water flew into the air. A few specs landed on Molly's dress. She gasped.

"I'll get you for that!" she laughed. She ran forward until the sea came up to her knees and scooped some water in her hands. She threw it at Sherlock, who quickly ducked.

She groaned. "Not fair," she mumbled, folding her arms. She pouted, although it looked like she was about to burst into laughter again.

Sherlock furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "Why don't we have a swim?" he asked.

Molly frowned. "But we don't have swimming costumes."

Sherlock grinned mischievously and raised an eyebrow. Molly stared at him for a moment, blinking.

"Sherlock Holmes, are you seriously suggesting that we-"

"Swim with our clothes on?" the boy finished innocently, "That is _of course_ what I was suggesting."

Molly giggled. "Of course it was," she paused, "But we'll get soaked. We don't have a change of clothes."

"Oh, live a little," Sherlock responded, smiling, "Who cares if our clothes get wet? We can always buy replacements."

Molly frowned slightly. At times it was easy to forget what sort of family Sherlock came from. He whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, whereas she had to save for months.

"Okay then," she sighed, "We'll swim in our clothes."

She started to take a step forward but then stopped.

"What about my _hair_?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Oh, Molly."

"It looks _horrible_ when it gets wet," she complained melodramatically, "I look like a stray dog that's been out in the rain."

"Molly, you'll look fine," Sherlock assured her, "You always look beautiful."

She blushed and smiled nervously. "W-well... T-thank you," she stuttered, looking away self-consciously.

Sherlock ran past her until the water was deep enough to swim in. He ducked his head under for a moment. When he came back up, he was breathing heavily and his hair was wet and dishevelled. Molly bit her lip when she saw him, feeling her cheeks burn. He looked spectacular, even when he was dripping wet.

"Well?" he said, "What are you waiting for?"

Molly snapped out of her trance. "Oh, um, right, I'm coming."

She walked over to where he was, using her arms to help her move through the water. Where he stood, his head and neck were above the water, but Molly had to hold up her chin to stop herself from falling under.

"It's a bit... Wet," she said.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head. "It's the sea, Molly."

"Yes, well..."

Sherlock grabbed hold of her hands, making her gasp, and he started to move around in the water. He spun her around and pulled her close to him. She smiled, embarrassed, but soon joined in with him.

"Are we dancing in the sea?" Molly asked, giggling.

Sherlock nodded. "We are," he replied simply, "It's a waltz in the water. _One two three, one two three_..."

Molly laughed as they danced. Sherlock seemed to be concentrating hard on what he was doing, even though it was not something to take seriously. Molly watched as he stared at the water, observing every movement.

"This is fun," she stated.

"Shush, I'm trying to focus."

Molly couldn't suppress her laughter. "Sherlock, for goodness sake..."

As they continued to dance, Molly noticed some children in the distance, staring at them like they were mad. She chuckled. They _did_ look mad, dancing around in the water with all their clothes on. They probably _were_ mad.

* * *

Their time at the beach came to an end eventually. They trekked back up the lane, soaking wet.

"That was the best day of my life," Molly told, "Thank you, Sherlock."

"You're welcome."

Molly smiled as they walked. Nothing could get rid of the delighted feeling inside of her. Nothing at all.

* * *

**Nothing, ey? Haha I have an evil plan :)**

**So, what did you think? Thank you so so so so so so so so much for reading. It means so much to me and I say it all the time but I love you guys.**

**Hugz!**

**Hev :) xxx**


	19. Numb - Part One

**I said I had an evil plan in store, and here it is. Teehee.**

**I think I'll update a lot now to make up for the fact I haven't updated for ages...**

**Thanks everyone for reading! :)**

* * *

Sherlock had brought a couple of towels and a change of clothes for them both in his rucksack (Molly was annoyed with him because he hadn't told her sooner) and so they found a set of public toilets to dry and change.

"How did you get hold of my clothes?" Molly asked as she walked out of the ladies room, a towel in her hand. Sherlock had brought a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for Molly to wear, as well as a spare pair of shoes.

Sherlock grinned and leaned back against the wall. His hair was dry already and he looked impeccable as ever. "Your grandmother gave them to me," he told.

"You mean she knew about the trip?"

The dark-haired boy nodded. Molly smiled.

"I'm glad you told her," she continued, "That way she wouldn't start worrying."

"You told her yourself, didn't you?"

"I told her we were going out but I didn't know where."

"She'll be happy to see you when we get home," Sherlock stated, scratching his neck.

"She'll be happy to see both of us."

* * *

They arrived back at around ten o'clock, as the train had been delayed. This irritated Sherlock hugely. As much as he loved spending time with his girlfriend, he would much prefer to do it in the comfort of his own home rather than in a cold, grimy train station.

It was still reasonably light, so they walked back to Molly's cottage. It was windy and Molly felt Goosebumps forming on her arms and legs. Despite it being summer, it was now very cold and she hoped they would reach home soon so she could warm up.

When they got to the cottage, they discovered that it was empty.

"Grandma said she'd be here when we came back," Molly said tensely, folding her arms to keep herself warm.

"She's probably just in bed," reassured Sherlock.

"No, the television is on," Molly told, "She always turns the television off when she goes to bed."

Sherlock peered around the door into the living room. The television was, in fact, on, though it was on a low volume. He furrowed his brows, thinking.

"Maybe she left it on for when you came back?" he suggested.

"No, no. She wouldn't do that," Molly frowned, "Grandma?" she called, looking up the stairs, "Grandma, its' me. Are you there?"

There was no response.

Molly looked at Sherlock. Her worried expression made a lump form in his throat.

"I bet she's just-"

"Molly? M-Molly, you have to g-go. You h-have to go quickly."

Sherlock stared at the woman who had just bundled through the front door and blinked. She was fairly young – probably in her thirties. She looked frantic and distressed. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was a mess. She started to push Molly towards the door.

"Mrs Appleby?" questioned Molly, concerned, as the woman steered her out of the door.

Sherlock deduced that the woman was Molly's neighbour.

"It's M-Madeleine," Mrs Appleby spoke hurriedly, "Oh, p-poor sweet Madeleine. They wouldn't l-let me go with her."

Molly forced her way out of the woman's grasp and stared at her. She clutched hold of her shoulders and gave her a shake to calm her down.

"My grandma," Molly spoke quickly, "What has happened to Grandma?"

"I-I-I'm sorry, t-they wouldn't let me go with her," replied Mrs Appleby, starting to cry.

"Who wouldn't?"

"T-the ambulance people."

Molly turned deathly pale. She slowly let her arms fall to her sides.

"W-what happened to her?" she asked, her voice less than whisper, "Why were the paramedics here?"

Mrs Appleby bit her lip, noticing how upset the young girl was. She put a hand on Molly's arm, comforting her. "She had a stroke," she told, "I went round to visit her and I could tell something was wrong, so I rang the ambulance. I'm so sorry."

A single tear ran down Molly's cheek. She felt numb. This wasn't happening.

"Sh… Sherlock…"

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here," he put his arms around her waist and planted a kiss on the top of her head, "We'll go to the hospital, okay? We'll go and see her. Molly. Molly?"

Molly felt frozen, unable to move. Her face was expressionless, unreadable, and she felt her skin grow cold. She shivered and Sherlock tightened his grip a little.

"Do you have any money for a taxi?" the boy asked Mrs Appleby quietly.

She nodded. "I'll drive you there."

Sherlock smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital, Mrs Hooper's doctor took Molly to an isolated corner at the back of the ward. Sherlock kept a close eye on them, feeling hopeless. He was supposed to be there for her, he was supposed to look after her, and yet he had no idea what to say to make her feel better.

"You are Madeleine Hooper's next of kin?" the doctor asked Molly.

"I-I… I don't…" Molly blinked a couple of times. Her head was aching and she couldn't think straight. "There's her son… My dad… Matthew… No, wait… He's not… He's not here…"

"Is he still with us?"

Molly looked confused. "He was… Never… With us to begin with."

The doctor smiled sadly at her. "I mean, is he still alive?"

The girl looked down and shook her head. "No… He's not… He died…"

"You are Mrs Hooper's granddaughter?"

Molly nodded.

"Molly Danielle Hooper, is that correct?"

She had to think for a second. "Yes, that's me," she said.

"Molly, your grandmother has suffered a stroke… She's in recovery but… Critically ill… She needs rest… Time… Hospital…"

The doctor's words eventually faded into silence. Molly found herself not listening to anything that was going on around her. She didn't know what to do. Her day had been perfect up until the moment she returned home, like a mirror that had shattered into a thousand pieces. She felt broken, helpless and afraid. So very afraid. She couldn't lose Grandma as well.

She started to walk slowly towards Sherlock, leaving the doctor with a puzzled expression. He tried to call her back, but his words sounded like far away echoes and Molly was unable to figure out what he was saying. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"Molly," Sherlock said softly, when she eventually reached him. He put his hands on her shoulders. He noticed that she was shivering. She was breathing extremely quickly, almost hyperventilating, and when he took her pulse Sherlock found that she had a rapid heart rate. Sherlock put a hand to her forehead and gasped.

"Molly, you're freezing. Molly? Molly, what's wrong? Molly?"

Her vision started to blur and she felt her eyelids start to close. She stumbled and Sherlock caught her quickly.

"Molly? Can you hear me?"

She nodded a little.

"Do you know where we are?"

"T-the hospital…"

"Which one?"

"I… Don't know…"

"Can you remember what happened?"

"Grandma… A stroke… Something…"

Molly felt her knees weaken and she collapsed to the floor. Sherlock immediately knelt down and supported her, making sure she didn't fall and knock her head.

"Can I have some help over here please?" he shouted urgently.

He stroked Molly's cheek and smiled at her, trying to get a response. She just stared at him blankly. Confused and desperate for an answer, Sherlock ran his hand through her hair and noticed that it was still slightly damp.

"Oh, I'm _such_ an idiot! You've been out in a bitter cold wind all evening with wet hair, because I was so _stupid_. Molly, I'm so sorry."

A nurse was now kneeling beside them both. She placed the back of her hand on the girl's forehead, and then looked around the ward.

"Doctor!" she called.

The doctor that Molly had been speaking to came over to the scene. "Right, Molly, we're going to get you into bed, alright?"

Sherlock stared, wide-eyed, as the nurse led Molly away to an empty ward bed.

"She's too cold," he stated simply.

The doctor nodded. "Hypothermia," he told, and then swiftly walked away.

* * *

Sherlock felt like he was on the edge of a mental breakdown. He had never felt this useless in his life. He was riddled with grief and guilt, things which he rarely felt. He had almost killed his girlfriend. This on top of the fact that Mrs Hooper was dying made him feel so terrible that he wanted to scream and punch something.

_Maybe I should take up boxing? _he thought, and then he hit himself inwardly for trying to make a joke at such a bad time.

He sat silently in the waiting area, watching different people walk past. He tried to deduce what he could about each of them, but he got bored after a while. He decided that he would venture outside, just so he had something to do.

Once he got out of the hospital and into the car park, he walked around for a bit in the dark, trying to distract himself. He kicked an empty can off the pavement and ran his fingers along the wall, but he still felt hopelessly bored and he couldn't stop worrying about Molly and Mrs Hooper.

When he got a little further, a strong scent entered his nose. He coughed, recognising that the smell was cigarette smoke. It was difficult to see, but he could just make out the silhouette of a man smoking. The orange glow of the cigarette was the only source of light apart from the moon and stars.

"Mind if I join you?" Sherlock inquired.

The man didn't seem startled by Sherlock's presence. "Not at all."

Sherlock took a couple of steps closer, breathing in the smoke. It made him cough a little and he started to feel dizzy. "May I borrow your lighter?"

The man took the small plastic object from his pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

"And may I have a cigarette?"

Sherlock gulped. The words didn't sound good, even coming out of his own mouth.

The man looked him up and down.

"It'll cost ya," he said, "A fiver for a fag. It's a fair price."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, shocked. "It seems a bit much for one," he retorted.

"Four quid, then."

The boy sighed and reluctantly took all the change from his pocket that he had.

"I've got three pounds and forty two pence," he told, after he had counted it all.

The man shrugged. Sherlock gave him the money. The cigarette was placed in his hand.

* * *

**Mrs Hooper has had a stroke, and what is wrong with poor Molly? Is Sherlock going to smoke the cigarette? Oh dear...**

**I like inflicting pain on others. It's very distracting.**

**Thank you once again everyone. Comments always appreciated :)**

**Heav Heav ;) xxxx**


	20. Numb - Part Two

**Possibly the quickest update ever. Not much to say here except thanks again for reading.**

* * *

Molly woke up alone in a bed that wasn't hers. She felt weak. She felt numb.

"Grandma?" she called out, sitting up abruptly, "Sherlock? Someone?"

She couldn't remember exactly what had happened, only that she had been to the beach with Sherlock and something had happened to her grandma. What had happened? It was something bad, it was something terrible but Molly couldn't think of what it was and her head was throbbing and she felt so vulnerable and scared and she couldn't control her breathing and…

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay. Calm down, you're okay. You're alright. Deep breaths."

Molly didn't recognise the woman who was now sat at her bedside, holding her hand. This panicked her even more and she started to cry.

"W-where's… Sherlock?" she asked, tears streaming down her face.

"I don't know," the woman replied, "But you've got to calm down, Molly. Deep breaths, okay? In and out."

"W-w-what's happening t-to me?"

"You're having a panic attack. You're alright, it's going to be alright."

Molly squeezed the woman's hand as she wept uncontrollably. Her breathing returned to normal eventually, and the woman smiled reassuringly.

"Would you like me to find him for you?" she questioned, referring to Sherlock.

Molly nodded.

* * *

Sherlock's hands were shaking as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. He didn't care about the damage that smoking it would cause, but he knew that right now he should be with Molly. However, he decided to try, just in case it made him feel better.

He held it to his lips and flicked the lighter on, a couple of times until the cigarette was lit. He coughed, but soon he got used to it. He felt lightheaded and calm, and suddenly he was no longer thinking about Molly and her grandmother. He was just enjoying the experience.

When it was over he felt his heart sink a little. It hadn't lasted very long. At least this meant he could go back upstairs to find Molly, and Mrs Hooper. He dropped the butt on the ground and stamped on it until it burnt out. Then, he began to walk back towards the hospital entrance, hoping nobody would notice what he had been doing.

* * *

Molly stared up at the ceiling. Her thoughts seemed to have a mind of their own. As the memories came flooding back to her, she felt another cold tear run down her cheek. She hadn't even seen Grandma yet, and she knew she didn't have much time left with her.

Suddenly, the curtains burst open. Molly started. To her relief, it was only Sherlock and the nurse who had seen to her previously. She smiled slightly; it was all she could manage.

The nurse nodded curtly at Molly, eyed Sherlock disapprovingly and then walked away. Sherlock came over and sat beside the bed. He looked sheepish. Molly coughed.

"You… You smell of smoke," she told.

"Yes," he responded simply.

"Have you been smoking?"

Sherlock swallowed. He couldn't lie to her. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I needed a distraction."

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"I know it's bad for you," Sherlock continued.

"Yes," said Molly.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

A pause.

"Are you going to do it again?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."

Sherlock felt numb. The nurse had told him what had happened whilst he was gone, and he felt incredibly guilty because he should have been there with her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Molly nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sherlock tentatively took hold of her hand. She pulled away and he looked at her, confused.

"Why did you…?"

"I can't do this anymore," Molly interrupted, "My grandma's _dying_, Sherlock. I don't have much time left with her. I don't even know if she'll be able to say goodbye…" She cleared her throat and blinked back tears, "I'm sorry. I think I need to be alone right now."

Sherlock gulped and looked down. "I understand."

"I knew you would. Thank you."

* * *

Molly was discharged after about half an hour, leaving her to spend some time with her grandma. The woman didn't look like herself. Her skin was almost white and she was as cold as ice. She lay, still and silent, like a statue.

Tears stung Molly's eyes. She held her grandmother's hand tightly, gently running her fingers along her skin. She whispered soft words into her ear.

"I love you, Grandma. It's going to be okay."

She could have sworn she saw the corners of the woman's mouth twitch, like she was trying to smile.

Molly beamed at her, but soon she began to cry again. "Oh, Grandma, Sherlock hates me now. I have no-one. No-one except you, and you're… You're…"

As she sobbed, she didn't notice the tall figure standing in the doorway.

"Molly?"

* * *

Sherlock sat against the wall in the corridor with his knees up to his chest. He was bouncing a rubber ball, which he had found on the beach earlier that day. The sound and motion of the ball was almost hypnotic.

Some people stopped and asked him if he was okay, and he fought the urge to yell at them. It was so unfair. He loved Molly with all his heart and now she hated him. Maybe his brother was right. Maybe caring was a disadvantage after all.

* * *

Molly jumped when she heard the familiar, deep voice. She turned quickly to face the man, who was standing by the door with his head cocked to one side like a curious dog.

"H-hello Mycroft," she sniffled, wiping her eyes.

The man frowned. "You don't seem surprised to see me," he stated.

"I'm never surprised to see you," Molly told, "You seem to pop up everywhere at the most inappropriate times."

She cast him a pointed look and he smirked.

"I am sorry about your grandmother," Mycroft said.

"No you're not. You don't care about either of us."

"I care about Sherlock, and Sherlock-"

"Sherlock doesn't care about me."

Mycroft blinked.

"How can you be so certain?" he questioned, "What has he done?"

"Go ask him for yourself, and mind your own business," Molly snapped, "Grandma is the only person I have left, and if you don't leave us alone I swear I'll call security."

Mycroft seemed taken aback. "_Fine_," he said through gritted teeth

* * *

"You've been eating sponge cake," was the first thing Sherlock said when he saw his brother walking down the corridor, his umbrella swinging at his side.

Mycroft chuckled. "Fruit cake, actually," he corrected.

"You look fatter than ever."

"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?" the older brother sat down beside Sherlock, "Now, what has gone on between you and Miss Hooper?"

"I nearly killed her," Sherlock informed, "Because of my own stupidity. She hates me."

"I don't think she does."

"How would you know? You haven't spoken to her," Sherlock paused. "_Oh_. You _have_ spoken to her, haven't you?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Why are you even here, Mycroft? Obviously not for the Hoopers."

"I came to see you," the young man told, "I know I was supposed to come a couple of weeks ago, but I got caught up at work. I presumed Mummy would have told you."

"Mummy never tells me anything," Sherlock mumbled.

"I came home only to find that you, or her, for that matter, were not there," his brother continued, "Father was in. He seemed pleased to see me, although I presumed that was due to his alcohol intake rather than anything else," Mycroft grimaced a little, "He told me that our 'good for nothing Mummy-kins' was at her sister's house – yes, he did actually use those words – and that she wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"How did you find out where_ I_ was, though?" Sherlock asked.

"I assumed you would be at Molly's house," told Mycroft, "When I saw that the television was still on and the door was open, I deduced that something must have happened to make you leave in a hurry. I phoned the hospital to inquire about anyone by the name of Holmes or Hooper being admitted, and discovered that a Mrs Madeleine Hooper had, earlier on that day, had a stroke, and Miss _Molly_ Hooper was being treated for shock. Does that answer your question?"

Sherlock nodded. "But, why did you take so long to get here?"

Mycroft smiled and brushed the cake crumbs off his suit jacket. "I have been in the coffee shop."

"For _all_ this time?"

"I had to drive here first of all, which took about an hour, and parking was a _nightmare_," Mycroft paused, "We should go home. You need to sleep, even if it's only for a couple of hours."

Sherlock shook his head quickly. "I don't need sleep. I should stay with Molly."

Mycroft smiled. "But she _hates_ you, Sherlock."

The younger boy scowled. "_I_ still love _her,"_ he muttered, resting his chin on his fist.

"Come on," sighed Mycroft, "Let's get you home, and _then_ we can talk."

* * *

**:'( Sherlolly is over.**

**Well, not forever. ;)**

**I'll be back soon folks. Thanks so much for reading :) **

**Hevs xxxx**


	21. Insomnia

**Hello everyone! I've updated at last. Yeah, things have been a bit flimsy recently... Idek what I just said it made no sense.**

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews. As always, they mean so much to me.**

**Also, my mate Flo wanted to tell you that she's going to call her/our youtube channel 'over my dead pineapple' ? Idk but she wanted me to tell you guys to get her some publicity, because she thinks I have like a million fans... Um... And she's ordered a camera which will be coming soon so hopefully we can start the videos :)**

**But don't ye worry about our nerdy little videos for now, because this is the next chapter of an adventure of their own:**

* * *

The car ride home was filled with awkward silence. Mycroft occasionally glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who was resting his head on the glass window. The older brother was, of course, concerned. He had picked up on the fact that Sherlock had been smoking, which was something he would talk to him about later. Right now, Mycroft knew, Sherlock needed time to himself.

Mycroft had always found emotions easier to deal with than his brother, probably because he just locked his feelings away. Sherlock, on the other hand, was not able to do this. He denied this, of course, and said he was perfectly able to handle his emotions, but Mycroft knew this was not the case.

When they finally reached home, after what seemed like a lifetime of driving, Mycroft led Sherlock into the living room. Sherlock slouched down into an armchair and Mycroft stood with his back to the door.

He folded his arms. "So."

"So?"

"So, are you going to tell me why you have decided to take up smoking?"

Sherlock gulped. "I haven't 'taken it up'," he told, "I just wanted to try it."

"But why?" asked Mycroft, " You're a smart boy. You know about the obvious health risks."

"Yes."

"And you know how easy it is to get addicted."

Sherlock nodded.

"So why-"

"I needed something, okay?" the teenager interrupted, "I needed… I don't know. A release. The feelings were getting too much for me and I needed something to take my mind off everything." He scoffed. "Huh, feelings. They're stupid, right? They just mess with your head."

Mycroft looked at his brother for a moment, brows furrowed.

"Sherlock, I know you think that Molly hates you, but I think she just needs some time alone."

"That's what she said," Sherlock muttered, resting his head on his palm.

"Yes, exactly. She needs some time to herself – time to spend with her grandmother. Mrs Hooper hasn't got long left, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't care."

"Sherlock, you've known her for eight years. _Don't_ lie to me. I know that you _do_ care," Mycroft said, and then sighed, "And I know I have always said that caring is a weakness, but if you _do_ care about someone it isn't wise to hide your feelings about that person. You will probably regret it if you pretend not to care about Mrs Hooper, or Molly for that matter."

Sherlock looked up at the mention of Molly's name.

"If someone who you love thinks you don't care for them, both of you are inevitably going to get hurt," continued Mycroft, "Trust me, I know."

"You're not talking about the Hoopers anymore, are you?" Sherlock asked, confused.

Mycroft shook his head sadly and then left the room.

* * *

Molly spent the rest of the night sitting by her grandma's side, never letting go of her fragile hand.

She didn't sleep; she just sat through the night gazing vacantly out into the corridor.

Eventually a single, cold tear ran down her cheek as she started to think about all the things she was losing.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't sleep as he stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling.

He couldn't stop thinking. It was like his brain had gone into overdrive.

But, for once, he wasn't thinking about Molly.

There was something bothering him. Mycroft's words had puzzled him.

_"Trust me, I know."_

Had Mycroft also been in love? This explanation seemed improbable.

A more likely reason was that Mycroft was talking about _them. _The Holmes brothers.

_"If someone you love thinks you don't care for them…"_

Sherlock suddenly sat up in bed as he realised what his brother had been talking about.

* * *

Mycroft had been sat in the living room for what seemed like hours, a glass of scotch in his hand. It was ironic how he had been complaining about their drunk father earlier.

It was chillingly silent, apart from the pitter-patter of rain outside.

A door creaked slowly open.

Mycroft thought nothing of it. It was probably just his imagination, or the alcohol.

"Myc?"

He smiled ruefully at the old nickname. Definitely the alcohol.

"Mycroft?"

This time Mycroft did decide to look up.

Sherlock was stood in the doorway, clad in his blue pyjamas. His expression made him look like a vulnerable young child, and there was something about the catch in his throat as he spoke that made him seem incredibly innocent.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

The boy swallowed. "I'm… Sorry," he whispered, the words coming out of his mouth as if he didn't know how exactly to say them.

"What for?" Mycroft questioned.

"Thinking you hated me."

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. "Sherlock, I can't blame you for that. I haven't exactly been there for you recently and I totally understand if-"

The sight of a teardrop on Sherlock's cheek cut him off.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock sniffed and wiped the tear away. "Nothing, I just… I hope Molly's alright."

"I haven't seen you cry in years," Mycroft told, "You really do care about her, don't you?"

"I love her, and I can't bear it when she's upset, but I never know what to do and…. You wouldn't understand. You never understand."

"I can try."

"It's just I…" Sherlock paused and sighed, "Does it make me a bad person if I never know how to comfort her?"

Mycroft smiled a little. "I've seen how you are with her. You are _far_ better at comforting people than I am. If anyone's a bad person it's me."

"No, no it's not," corrected Sherlock, "Father's a bad person, because he cheated on his wife and he…" He took a sharp and sudden intake of breath as he thought back to times his father had hurt him, "You aren't, Mycroft. You're my big brother and I… I..."

He couldn't quite bring himself to say the three words on the tip of his tongue.

"I understand," Mycroft replied, smiling, "I love you too, Lockie. Now get back to bed, you've barely slept these past few days."

"How do you know? You haven't been here."

"There are rings under your eyes, Sherl."

Sherlock shrugged and smiled. "I suppose, but I'll only go if you do too. I'm not the only one who needs my beauty sleep."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but walked upstairs with his brother nonetheless.

* * *

Sherlock awoke early in the morning to the sound of the telephone ringing. Mycroft was the one who answered it, but Sherlock was downstairs to listen to the end of the conversation.

"… Yes, yes, I'll tell him. Give Miss Hooper my condolences. Thank you."

Mycroft seemed surprised when he turned around, like he hadn't expected to see his little brother up already.

"You heard that phone call, didn't you?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Enough to know what it was about."

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

Sherlock turned around and started walking back upstairs.

"Where are you going?" his brother inquired.

"To get dressed. I have to see Molly."

* * *

**So... Thoughts?**

**This story has finally reached the stage where Molly and Sherlock are growing up into young adults, and soon they will be at university. What a rollercoaster that will be.**

**Thanks again for reading :)**

**Lots of love,**

**Heavs :)**


	22. Moving On

**So here's another chapter for you! Chapter twenty-two! Wow, my babies are all grown up now...**

**Obviously I'm talking about Sherlock and Molly. I don't have actual babies...**

**Thanks for all the reviews, and thanks for reading :)**

* * *

He expected her to be crying her eyes out, but when he arrived at the hospital he discovered that she was standing by her grandmother's beside with a vacant look.

"That's it," she whispered.

"That's what?" Sherlock questioned.

"The only person I had left," Molly continued, "And she's gone. I'm on my own now."

"No, no you're not."

Sherlock stood beside her and took her hand in his own.

"You're not alone, you've got me."

Molly rested her head on his shoulder. "I know, but you hate me now, don't you?"

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, I could never hate you. You were right. I think it's probably best if we stay as friends for now." He couldn't stop the lump forming in his throat as he said it.

They both looked down at Mrs Hooper's cold body. She laid completely still, her skin pale and her face expressionless. Neither Sherlock nor Molly seemed at all bothered by the fact she was dead.

"Grandma's always been there for me," Molly said quietly, "I didn't have a chance to tell her how much I appreciate… _Appreciated_ her."

"She was like a grandmother to me as well," Sherlock told, and Molly smiled.

"I think she was trying to be."

They both sighed.

"Molly, would you like some more time alone with her?"

The girl bit her lip and nodded. "If it's not to much trouble."

"Of course not."

Before he left, Sherlock tenderly stroked Molly's cheek and placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

"I love you. Always remember that."

* * *

After a week, it was time to go back to school. Sherlock had his first day at college, which promised to be an interesting experience. Studying his chosen subjects sounded appealing compared to learning boring, pointless things like history and languages.

The day was relatively mundane and boring, however, and Sherlock soon discovered that he wasn't going to like it here.

* * *

At the end of the day, Sherlock was confronted by a group of boys who were all dressed in jeans, hoodies and trainers. Sherlock looked down at his white shirt, smart trousers and leather shoes and frowned.

"Look at him, lads," said one of the boys, who Sherlock figured must be the ringleader. He had jet black hair that seemed to cover most of his pale face, which meant that Sherlock could hardly see his green eyes.

"He's one of them posh kids," the boy continued.

"One of _those_ posh kids," Sherlock corrected, rolling his eyes. People like this were insufferable.

"Are you from one of them private schools, then?" the boy asked him.

Sherlock shook his head. "_Those_. _Those_ private schools," He cleared his throat, "Yes, I am. What is it to you?"

The boy was about to speak when another stepped forward. He looked at Sherlock with his brows furrowed. "I know you from somewhere," he spoke, "I've seen you in town. You're the guy who hangs out with that girl. What's her name? Holly or somethin' like that."

"Molly," Sherlock told, "Her name is Molly."

"Oh, Molly Hooper?" said the first boy, "Right, yeah, I know her. Sweet kid with pretty eyes."

Sherlock clenched his fists defensively. "Yes, yes she has got pretty eyes."

"She's not bad lookin'. Quite cute, really. I might take her off your hands, show her what she's been missing if you know what I mean."

Sherlock glowered at the boy.

"_No_," he said sternly, "You will not."

"She'd enjoy it, you know," the boy continued, "It's always the quiet ones. I bet she'd be well up for it."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself from punching him square in the face, and he didn't regret it afterwards.

"What the f…?!"

"Don't you _dare_ talk about her like that," Sherlock hissed.

He suddenly became aware of the fact the rest of the boys were circling him like a pack of angry wolves…

* * *

Mycroft dabbed at the cut on Sherlock's cheek with a wet cloth, whilst Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted head back to stop his nosebleed.

"You're an idiot."

* * *

Mrs Hooper's funeral was in late September, and both of the brothers were invited. It seemed that Molly had taken her grandmother's death surprisingly well, although Sherlock was worried by her attitude. She wasn't normally this distant and quiet, especially around him.

Sherlock got tired of college eventually, and soon he had a reputation for skipping classes, which was something none of his family were pleased about.

Molly stayed with her neighbour – Mrs Appleby, the one who had phoned the ambulance for her grandmother – for about a month, until she was taken into foster care. Leaving the street where she had lived for half of her life seemed to upset her deeply, and, although Sherlock didn't really understand sentiment, he tried his hardest to make her feel better.

Several months after she had moved in with her foster parents, on a Thursday morning in the Christmas holidays, Sherlock visited the house for the first time. It was fairly large compared to Molly's old cottage, although it would still fit into Holmes Manor several times.

He presumed that the man who answered the door was Molly's new foster father, as he had never actually met her foster parents before. He was about the same height as him, with straight brown hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a grey suit and white shirt.

"Yes?" he said, a little impatiently.

"Mr Lawson, I am presuming?" Sherlock asked, smiling charmingly. Despite being stubborn and childish at times, he did know how to make a good first impression.

The man nodded. "Yes, yes, call me Jeremy. And you are…?"

"Sherlock Holmes. Molly's friend."

Jeremy blinked. "Yes, she's mentioned _you_ a lot."

"Is she in?" Sherlock questioned.

As if to answer his question, Molly appeared in the hallway. She was still in her nightdress and had her arms folded, probably to keep her warm. There was a smile spread across her face but she looked like she had been crying.

"Molly?"

Jeremy quickly turned around when he heard the name.

"Morning, Lolly. What took you so long?"

_Lolly? _Sherlock thought, _He's given her a nickname already?_

"Are you alright?" he asked, "You've been crying."

"Oh, it's your dust allergy, isn't it?" said Jeremy.

Sherlock knew that Molly didn't have a dust allergy. There was something wrong with this, although he couldn't put his finger on what.

"C-come in, Sherlock," said Molly quietly, and then she turned to face Jeremy, "If t-that's okay with you, Mr Lawson."

The man nodded and smiled at her. "Of course. And we discussed this, you can call me Uncle Jerry, okay?"

Molly nodded a little. Jeremy patted her shoulder and Sherlock could have sworn he saw her flinch.

* * *

Molly led Sherlock upstairs to her bedroom. He noticed lots of new, expensive things in her room.

"Did the Lawsons buy you all this stuff?" Sherlock asked, curious.

"J-just Mr Lawson," Molly told him, "Nicola doesn't like to spend unnecessarily."

Sherlock took a seat on her bed. Molly swallowed.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" he inquired. Molly quickly shook her head. "Why not?" She didn't answer; she just stood there awkwardly. "Molly?"

"Everything okay up there, Lolly?" Jeremy called from downstairs. Molly jumped when she heard his voice. Sherlock furrowed his brows.

"Y-yes, everything's fine Mr… Uncle Jerry."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sherlock asked her, "You've been acting like this for a while."

Molly shook her head. "I'm fine. A lot has happened recently, that's all. I-I miss Grandma. And the cottage."

"I miss her too," Sherlock sighed, "It's been less than six months. The grief must still be raw."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. But I've accepted the fact that she'd gone," Molly said, and then added quietly: "It hardly matters now anyway."

"Of course it matters, she was your grandma, and she wouldn't want to see you hurting like this. I can tell when you're upset, Molly."

Molly nodded and sniffled. "I know. I can't help it."

"Why? What has he done?"

"Who? What do you mean? Nobody's d-done anything," Molly answered hurriedly.

Sherlock looked at her with a combination of suspicion and concern.

"If you say so," he muttered, not believing her for a second.

* * *

**So, what did you all think? Comments are always appreciated.**

**Poor Molly. **

**And I shall be writing more about Sherlock's adventures in college shortly :)**

**Thanks everyone :)**

**Heavie ;) xxxx**


	23. From Darkness to Light

**This started off as a fluffy kidlock fic.**

**Now it's... Well, judge for yourself.**

**Thanks for reading and thanks for all the lovely reviews :)**

* * *

Sherlock arrived home at around nine o'clock in the evening, after spending the evening investigating a local gang in town. It was only a few days until Christmas, which meant that his brother would be coming home soon, something which Sherlock both looked forward to and dreaded.

As soon as he stepped through the front door, his mother hurried to him with a worried look.

Sherlock tilted his head inquisitively. "Mother?"

"Molly's upstairs, Sherlock," she told, "She's been here for_ hours_, just sat in your bedroom. I'm concerned about her."

Sherlock rushed up the stairs and into his room, where Molly was sat on his bed. He hadn't seen her for a while, and he could tell that something was wrong. Her eyes were red from crying and she peered out into the corridor when Sherlock entered, as if she was expecting someone else to be there.

"Molly?"

Sherlock sat beside her and placed his hand next to hers, so that their fingers were just touching. She clutched hold of his hand.

"I can't go back there," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, although he thought he knew the answer already.

"T-to the Lawsons," Molly told him, "I can't go back. Please don't make me go back."

"Molly, I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to. What's happened?"

"It's _him_," Sherlock could see the tears forming in her eyes as she spoke, "He had too much to drink, it all got out of hand. I managed to get out of the house. I didn't know where else to come."

Sherlock swallowed, realising how close to home her story sounded.

"I knew there was something wrong when I first saw him," he replied, "I know what alcoholics are like. I've lived with one all my life."

He studied Molly closely, looking for signs of cuts or bruises. "Has he been hurting you? I can't see any damage."

"H-he hasn't hit me or anything," Molly answered, "He's not like that. He's not violent at all."

"But he's still a drunk, and social services shouldn't have allowed that couple to take care of you."

"They didn't know," said Molly, "And Nicola's really nice."

"Does she know that her husband's a drinker?"

"She knows about the drinking, yes, but not about… Not the other part."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Other part? Molly, what aren't you telling me? What has he done?" He sighed, "And you don't have to lie to me this time. He's not here. You're safe."

Molly didn't respond. She sat still, looking down at the carpet, with a scared and hurt expression. But Sherlock could see something else in her eyes. It looked like _shame_.

_But why would she be ashamed? Unless…_

"Oh."

"It's my fault," she whispered, "I should have said something."

"Molly, no, it is _not_ your fault."

"But I didn't try to stop him."

"Because you were terrified, I expect," Sherlock cut in, "There was nothing you could have done."

"But-"

"No, Molly, it's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. It's over now, I promise."

Molly let the tears flow freely. Sherlock embraced her, holding her tightly as she wept.

"Molly, I-I need to know what he did," Sherlock told her, feeling a lump form in his throat. It seemed unfair to make her tell him, but he really did need to know.

"Yeah," she sniveled, "I know.

"In your own time."

* * *

Sherlock had never felt so angry before. Hearing Molly tell him the terrible things Mr Lawson had done to her made rage bubble up inside him. He _hated_ that man. Jeremy Lawson deserved something worse than death for all he had done.

However, Sherlock knew being angry wouldn't help Molly, and pitying her wouldn't help either. He just needed to be there for her; he needed to be a friend.

"It's okay, now," he told her, "I won't let him touch you again."

Molly smiled a little. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of his bedroom door opening.

"I thought I'd drive back here today, rather than waiting until morning…"

Mycroft stopped when he saw Molly.

"Ah, Miss Hooper, what are you doing here at this time of night? I hope you and my brother aren't doing anything… Unseemly."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "Go. Away. Mycroft."

"Nice to see you too, little brother," Mycroft replied, "A warm welcome as always."

"Mycroft, now is _really_ not the time for sarcasm."

"Sherlock, I-"

"_Shut up_!" Sherlock yelled, startling both Molly and Mycroft, "You're _such_ an idiot, Mycroft. Can't you see that Molly's upset?"

"I _did_ see," Mycroft said calmly, "I was trying to lighten the atmosphere. Besides, she has nothing to be upset about anymore."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Mycroft looked at Molly. "The police have been informed. Jeremy Lawson has been taken into custody."

Molly flinched at the name. Mycroft turned back to face his brother. "I am not as idle as you seem to think, Sherlock. I _do_ notice things, and I wasn't just going to stand back and let the man get away with it."

"B-but how did you know?" Molly asked.

"I didn't know, I deduced," Mycroft told, "When I arrived home several hours ago, I saw you running towards Holmes Manor, obviously distressed. I took it upon myself to investigate.

"I was informed by one of your neighbours," he continued, "That Nicola Lawson was out with friends for the night, meaning you were alone with your foster father. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you were running from _him_."

"What did you tell the police?" Sherlock questioned, "You didn't have any evidence or witnesses. Why did they believe you?"

"Sherlock, the police can't just ignore an accusation like that. And anyway, I occupy a position in the British government and I have many illustrious and important associates. If that doesn't scare them into taking my word I don't know what will."

He turned back to Molly. "You are perfectly safe now, Molly."

The girl rushed up to Mycroft and flung her arms around him. He looked startled and stood with his arms out to the side, like he wasn't sure what to do.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Molly whispered.

"Oh, no worries," Mycroft patted her back and smiled awkwardly, "If you'll excuse me, Mummy is waiting for me downstairs."

Mycroft left the room and Sherlock walked over to Molly.

"I never thought _Mycroft_ would do anything to help you," he said.

"I owe him so much," Molly replied, "I know you always say he's an idiot, but he's not that bad really. I really do wish I had an older brother to look out for me all the time."

Sherlock gulped. "Are you alright? I understand this must all be very hard for you."

"I think I'm okay. Like you said, it's over now."

"You're so brave, Molly Hooper," Sherlock smiled at her, "I'm so glad you got the opportunity to escape from him, before this whole thing got worse."

Molly sighed. "So am I. I can't imagine what he would have done if I stayed there with him…"

"I can," Sherlock told, "And I'm so, _so_ relieved you didn't stay."

* * *

The trial took a couple of months. During that time Molly stayed with Sherlock and his family. Things like Christmas and birthdays seemed to go out of the window.

Jeremy Lawson was given a long prison sentence – not long enough, Sherlock thought – and put into jail. To Sherlock's relief, Molly was back to her usual self in no time at all. She never forgot about it, of course. She had recurring nightmares and often he found her crying in the corner of her room, but all in all she was much chirpier.

The school year came to an end. Molly's results were exceptional considering what had happened. Sherlock felt strangely proud of her.

"You have an excellent future ahead of you," he told her, and then kissed her forehead.

Sherlock's grades were quite high too, even though he had skipped a lot of his first year of college. The school had been in touch with his parents several times, but they had never managed to get him to change his ways.

"God help him when he gets to university," Violet had joked.

The summer holidays went by quickly, as did the next year of their education. Molly went to the same college as Sherlock, which meant for the first time they were learning together in the same school.

It seemed like they were ready to start dating again, but Sherlock didn't want to ask her, in case she rejected him. He couldn't bear that. He knew he was in love with her and it _hurt_, so eventually he buried all of his feelings deep into his heart.

* * *

**What did you think?**

**The next chapter will include more college antics, and then Sherlock will be off to university! I have a little something in mind for his university days, or should I say someone... :)**

**Thanks for reading :p **

**Heavs :) xxxx**


	24. Always

**Hey everyone. So here's a new chapter.**

**Thank you so much to all of the people who reviewed and read, because (I know I say this every time and it's really cliché but...) it means the world to me.**

**Today hasn't been too good, but that's okay. It's okay to have rough days, right? Everyone does.**

**And Sherlock and Molly do in this chapter, so here goes...**

**Chapter Twenty-Four of An Adventure of Their Own:**

* * *

Neither of them were the same after everything they had been through in the past few years. Sherlock was more detached, hiding his feelings like his brother. Molly became insecure and, Sherlock noticed, she was never as happy as she used to be. He couldn't blame her. She had lost her dear grandmother, and then that awful man had… Thinking about it made Sherlock feel sick to his stomach.

Though they had both changed, their bond remained as strong as ever. Sherlock wasn't sure what he would call their relationship. It was definitely something more than just friendship.

Molly had been staying with Sherlock's family for almost a year. Violet enjoyed having another female around the house, and Siger never seemed to be around. Mycroft only visited occasionally. He was always polite to Molly, but it was always clear he felt like she didn't belong there.

She was adjusting – to home life, to school, to the 'new' Sherlock. He was tricky to tolerate, sometimes. The way he would lock himself in his room and not speak for days on end, the times he took his boredom out on the world… These things always irritated Molly, but she was learning to endure them.

Molly was enjoying her first year of college, although it was obvious that Sherlock loathed the place.

* * *

"Hey, Sherly!"

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh when he heard the familiar voice of Jack Woodley, the self-proclaimed 'king of the college' and by far one of the most annoying students. It was a wonderful coincidence that he was also the same boy Sherlock had punched on his first day.

"How are you? How's that girlfriend of yours?"

"She is _not_ my girlfriend, Woodley," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh really?" said Jack, "She lives with you, don't she?"

"_Doesn't_ she and yes, she does, but that doesn't make her my girlfriend."

"Well, I think-"

"I don't care what you _think_, Woodley, she is _not_ my girlfriend."

The boy laughed and raised his hands in the air, as if surrendering. "Alright, I get it, mate," he replied, "Does that mean I can have her, then?"

"No, of _course_ not," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, "Molly would never go for someone so… Repulsive. Anyway, I thought you were dating that Smith girl."

"No, that's my mate Robbo," Woodley explained, "For a 'genius' you're really thick sometimes, Sherly."

"Never call me that again," Sherlock hissed, "And stay away from Molly. She's been through enough without having you…" He scrunched up his nose. He didn't want to finish the sentence.

Jack shrugged. "Alright, whatever, I'll leave her alone."

* * *

"Are you okay?"

Sherlock asked her that same question every time they saw each other now. Molly found it sweet, although to anyone else it would probably have been irritating.

"I'm fine," she replied, smiling a little, "How are you? How was your lesson?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Oh, you know, the usual boring stuff. The teacher was in a foul mood and-"

"You didn't go, did you?" Molly asked.

Sherlock looked down at the floor. "Brilliant deduction."

"How are you ever going to get good grades if you don't go to classes?"

"I attend the exams. I don't _need_ classes. I'm clever enough without having to be taught by imbeciles."

Molly rolled her eyes.

"I enjoy lessons," she told.

"Obviously, otherwise you wouldn't go to them."

"I would go, actually. I didn't skip _any_ lessons in high school, which says something because I hated lots of them. It just proves that you're an idiot who can't be bothered to show up."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm _not_ an idiot, and it's not that I can't be bothered, it's because they're _so_ boring."

"So what do you do instead?" Molly questioned.

"Sometimes I go home and experiment, sometimes I have a case. It depends."

Molly giggled. "A case? Who do you think you are, Sherlock? Miss Marple?"

Sherlock looked confused. "Is that one of our teachers?"

* * *

It was a week later that Sherlock saw Molly talking to Jack Woodley behind the bicycle shed.

"Woodley!"

His voice was so loud that everyone turned to stare at him. He sprinted over to the scene and pushed Woodley to the ground, a look of rage spread across his face.

"I told you to stay away from her!" he yelled, putting his foot on Jack's neck.

"Whoa, okay, there's no need to get violent, mate," Woodley looked genuinely scared.

"Sh-Sherlock…" Molly tentatively placed a hand on his arm, "L-leave him alone. He was only asking me something."

Sherlock cleared his throat and stood back, allowing Woodley to stumble onto his feet and run away.

"You're right," he told, smiling at Molly and taking hold of her hands, "I'm sorry. I just thought he might be…"

"I know," Molly replied, "He just wanted me to check something for him, to make sure he'd done his work correctly. He's not a bad person, Sherlock. He actually _does_ try hard, he just has some problems."

Sherlock gulped. "Everyone has problems."

They stood looking at each other, both realising for the first time how messed up their lives actually were.

"No matter what happens," said Sherlock, cupping Molly's chin in his hands, "I will always protect you and keep you safe."

* * *

When Sherlock and Molly arrived home, Violet told them she was going out for the evening with a friend and Siger hadn't returned home from work, meaning the two of them would have to eat alone. They ended up buying their food from a local fish and chips store, as neither of them were very good at cooking.

"I miss Grandma's baking," Molly sighed.

Sherlock nodded. "Me too. The honey bread, especially."

"I liked her cinnamon cookies."

They looked down at their meals. Sherlock had ordered the typical cod and chips, whereas Molly had opted for a fish cake.

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore," she said sadly.

"That's alright," Sherlock replied, shrugging, "Neither am I. It was cheap, anyway, so it doesn't matter."

They both sighed.

"Why can't we just be normal, Sherlock?" Molly asked, "Why do all of these things have to happen to us? All of the drama, the pain, the suffering… Normal people don't have to cope with all of that."

"I don't know much about 'normal' people," Sherlock answered, "For I am not one of them, and I don't think I want to be. I like being different."

"Everyone's different, but not everyone has to go through what we have."

Sherlock kissed Molly's temple and then put his arm around her.

"There are people who have been through worse," he told, "And there are people who are lucky and haven't been through anything as bad. But we can't change the past, and at least we have each other."

"You have your mum, and Mycroft. They both love you _so_ much. Nobody cares about me. Everyone hates me."

Sherlock felt a lump form in his throat.

"_I_ care about you," he whispered, "I _love_ you. Always remember that. And nobody hates you, Molly Hooper. Nobody at all. I will _always_ be here for you. Always."

* * *

**Thank you for reading.**

**You don't have to review. The fact that you've read this makes me feel appreciated and happy.**

**As Molly says on her blog, stay happy everyone :)**

**Heaven xx**

**ALSO forgot to mention this when it was first posted: Woodley, Robbo and 'that Smith girl' are all references to the Sherlock Holmes canon, specifically the short story 'the solitary cyclist' featuring Jack Woodley, Bob Carruthers and Violet Smith. If you haven't read it, I suggest you do, because the Sherlock Holmes books are exceptional :)**


	25. Kittens and University

**Hello everyone! Chapter 25 is here! I put out a little teaser on tumblr for what is in store, and you will see shortly...**

**Thank you again to everyone who reviewed, because it means so much. If people like my stuff it makes me happy.**

**Let the chapter commence!**

* * *

Sherlock wished he could stay with Molly forever, but eventually the time came for him to move on to university. He had tried negotiating with his parents to get him in somewhere closer to home, but they insisted that he went to Oxford. It was a family tradition, Siger had told him, and the Holmes family never ignored tradition.

Sherlock knew that when he went Molly would be left alone, and he definitely didn't want her to feel lonely. Being the clever young man that he was, he came up with a plan that would hopefully stop her from missing him too much.

As Molly stared down at the basket on the floor, she felt her heart melt. In the wicker basket were a couple of tabby kittens, one brown and white and the other all brown. She looked back at Sherlock, wondering whether she was dreaming.

"You got me _kittens_?" she asked with a broad smile and a lot of enthusiasm. Sherlock chuckled and nodded. He watched, smiling, as she knelt down, picked up the brown kitten and cradled it in her arms.

"Sherlock, you are the best friend a girl could ever have."

She stood back up, still holding the small creature, and kissed Sherlock's cheek. He blushed a little, although he tried to hide it.

"I got them at the rescue centre," he told, "They were the only two survivors of a litter, after the mother died. Both male. They haven't got names."

The other kitten mewed irritably, as if jealous that his brother was getting all of the attention. Molly scooped him up with her free hand and looked at them both, thinking.

She smiled. "I'm calling them Merry and Pippin," she announced.

Sherlock blinked and looked at her, confused. "Merry and Pippin?"

"After the Hobbits, from the Lord of the Rings books."

Sherlock didn't have the faintest idea what a _Hobbit_ was, but he didn't tell her this.

"Well, they're yours so you can name them whatever you want. Though to be honest I thought you'd give them cat names."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Cat names?"

"You know, like Fluffy or Spotty," Sherlock elaborated, "That's what people normally name their cats, right?"

Molly tried to refrain from laughing and failed miserably.

"Sherlock, you're hopeless," she giggled. She walked over to where Sherlock was sat and placed the all brown kitten on his lap. She noticed that he looked a little uncomfortable.

"Which one is this one?" he inquired, his hand hovering over the feline as if he was contemplating whether or not to pet it.

"Um… Merry, I think that one's going to be Merry," She smiled down at the other kitten, "And this is Pippin."

Merry meowed. Pippin copied, a little quieter.

* * *

Molly hugged Sherlock at least ten times on the day that he left, and she cried when it was time for him to go. Violet placed a caring hand on her shoulder as Mycroft drove away with Sherlock in the passenger seat.

"Both of my boys, all grown up," Violet said, wiping a tear from her eye, "It seems like only yesterday that Crofty was raiding the biscuit tin and Sherly was running around the house with his pirate dagger wearing nothing but his underwear."

Molly smiled at the images.

Violet let out a laugh. "They are very different, my boys, but also very similar."

"I've noticed," Molly replied, "Despite their differences, there are a lot of traits they share."

Violet shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Like their stubbornness," she said, "Something they get from their father. Although, I must admit, Mycroft is much more likely to listen to his mother and do as he's told."

Molly giggled.

"I hope he'll be alright," Mrs Holmes continued, "He's never been away from home, not for long anyway. I don't think he'll last five minutes without someone to look out for him."

They both sighed.

"I suppose he just needs to learn how to look after himself," said Molly.

* * *

"Stop! Stop the car!"

Mycroft swiveled onto a side road and slammed on his breaks. He turned to look at his brother with an exasperated expression.

"Get out."

"_What_?"

"Go back home. I'll drive."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow incredulously. "You have no idea how to get to Oxford, and you haven't even taken your driving test yet," he reminded Sherlock.

"I don't care. I can't tolerate you anymore."

Mycroft's eyebrows raised even more. "_You_ can't tolerate _me_? Sherlock, for goodness sake, you are the most insufferable…"

"Fine. I'll walk to Oxford," Sherlock opened the car door but Mycroft quickly grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back.

"Shut the door," the older brother ordered.

Sherlock folded his arms.

"_Shut the door_!"

Sherlock pouted and shut the door.

Mycroft shook his head and sighed. "Sherlock Holmes, how are you ever going to survive on your own?"

Sherlock shrugged and said nothing.

"You're not," Mycroft mumbled, "Of course you're not."

* * *

Molly found herself sat in Sherlock's bedroom, playing with the kittens. After having them for a fortnight, she had discovered that Merry was extremely protective of his sibling and Pippin was very curious. This meant that Pippin often wandered off in search of adventure and Merry had to run after him to stop him from doing anything stupid.

_Just like in the books, _Molly thought with a smile. She had read the Hobbit when she was ten and had moved onto Lord of the Rings a few years later. She had instantly fallen in love with the series, especially the mischievous Hobbit cousins, her new kittens' namesakes.

Her pets made her happy and sad all at once. She loved them dearly already, but they brought back memories of her beloved Tilly. She tried to focus on the positives.

* * *

"So, Sherlock, this is your new flat," said Mycroft, showing his brother around the small apartment, "It's very close to the University, so you won't have much trouble getting to and from lectures."

Sherlock looked around the flat with dismay. It had two small bedrooms (one of which would be his new roommate's), a bathroom, a kitchenette and a living area. He frowned.

"Mycroft, it's _tiny_," he moaned.

"Oh, stop complaining, Sherl, for an apartment it's quite spacious. And anyway, flats around these parts are ridiculously expensive, so you wouldn't be able to afford anything too grand. Your rent will be collected every month. Don't forget about it, and be sure to use the money you got put in your account for your eighteenth."

"Yes, Mother," Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft scowled. "Sherlock," he said curtly, as a warning.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

* * *

The landline started ringing early the next morning. Molly, who was up and ready for college, dashed to the phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Morning, Molly."

"Sherlock!" She was filled with a mixture of surprise and relief, "You're up early. I thought you would have slept in."

"I wanted to speak to you," Sherlock responded.

Molly smiled. "How are you settling in?"

"Oh, it's fine. A bit small, but that's alright. My roommate should be arriving within the next week," He paused, "How are you? How's Mother? And the kittens?"

"I'm good," Molly told him, "Pip and Merry are great. They're so lovely. Your Mum seems to be fine. It's only been a night, though."

"I suppose."

"I should probably make a move," continued Molly with a sigh, "School will be starting soon. It was great to speak to you, though."

"Goodbye, Molly. Have a nice day."

"You too."

They both waited awkwardly for a few seconds. Eventually Sherlock cut off the line.

* * *

**So, Sherlock's off to university! I wonder who his flatmate could be...**

**I had to have more cats in there at some point. I'm a cat person. And I couldn't resist with the Merry and Pippin thing... Big LOTR fan here, and I think Molly is too.**

**Thanks for reading once again.**

**And I hope to see you soon!**

**Heaven :) x**


	26. Sherlock Holmes and Victor Trevor

**Not a very interesting chapter this one, and quite short, but we do meet Sherlock's flat mate and find out some stuff about him. Many more characters will be introduced soon, including a few that you know already :)**

**I'm sorry it has taken so long to update. I've just been back at school for the past few weeks and I was just taking it easy in the summer. It's okay to have a little vacation once in a while, right? (Why have I started using American language? I'm British). **

**The updates shall be more frequent from now on, and here is chapter 26 :) Thanks guys :)**

* * *

Sherlock snapped out of his trance when he heard the buzzer sound. He had been lost in his thoughts, thinking mostly about Molly. He groaned irritably and walked out of his flat. He opened the front door, not caring who it was.

"What?" he asked tetchily.

There was a man of a similar age stood in front of him. He was a little taller with neat brown hair (a similar colour to Molly's) and green eyes. He was dressed casually and in his hand was a leash. Sherlock looked down and saw an aggressive looking bull terrier staring at him.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes?" the man questioned.

Sherlock was still looking at the dog curiously.

"I'm your new flat-mate," the man held out his hand for Sherlock to shake, but he ignored it, "The name's Victor. Victor Trevor."

"You are not bringing _that_ inside," Sherlock said, staring at the terrier.

"The landlord seemed to be alright with it," replied Victor.

"Well I'm not. I am not sharing a flat with that vicious thing."

"His name's Basil," Victor told, "And he's not vicious, unless I tell him to be."

"What a ridiculous name for a dog," Sherlock said, "Do people usually name their pets after herbs?"

"Well, I've never heard of a goldfish called Parsley, if that's what you're asking."

Sherlock smiled, a little annoyed. Victor's dry sarcasm was already starting to irritate him.

"You aren't welcome here," he said.

"It's my flat. I'm paying for half the rent."

"I don't care. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to get back to my mind palace. Good morning."

Sherlock tried to shut the door but Victor stopped it with his foot.

"You can't just tell me to leave," the man snapped.

Sherlock sighed and opened the door again. Basil growled and bared his teeth.

"What is he- OW!"

Sherlock kicked Basil hard. The dog whined in pain.

"The fiend bit me!" Sherlock yelled, "I told you it was vicious!"

Victor knelt down beside Basil and stroked his head.

"No need to attack him like that," he said, frowning at Sherlock.

"It bit my ankle! I refuse to share a flat with such an evil creature!"

Victor looked up at Sherlock for a moment, rather incredulously, and then he started laughing. Sherlock furrowed his brows.

"Are you usually this… Melodramatic?" Victor asked, grinning.

Sherlock scowled.

"He won't bite you again, he's a good dog," Victor continued, "He never normally bites people, or even growls, only when he thinks that I am in danger."

"His loyalty is admirable," said Sherlock, smiling a little.

Victor shook his head and chuckled. "You're a bit weird, you know?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It has been said before."

"I like that. It's good to be different," he stood up and held out his hand, "So, what do you say? Can Basil stay here too?"

Sherlock looked down at the dog and frowned. Nevertheless he shook Victor's hand.

"Now, have you got any food in? I'm _starving_."

* * *

After Sherlock had spent ten minutes watching Victor prepare and eat a cheese and pickle sandwich, he gestured towards his new flat-mate's bedroom. Victor looked inside and then came back out again. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why are there a load of boxes in my bedroom?" he asked.

"Things I couldn't be bothered unpacking," Sherlock answered curtly, "Boring."

Victor shrugged in response and walked back into the living room. He slumped down on the sofa and picked up a book from the armrest that was called, much to his dismay, it seemed, _'Crime and Punishment'. _After a moment of silence, Sherlock cleared his throat. Victor turned to face him

"Where are your own possessions?" Sherlock questioned, "You don't have any boxes with you."

"They're being dropped off," replied Victor, "I wanted to get her early on so I could figure out where to put everything."

"You live in Norfolk, don't you?"

Victor blinked, confused. "Yes, I do live in Norfolk. How-"

"Oh, please," Sherlock shook his head and smiled, "Child's play."

Victor stared, bemused, and then said: "Impressive stuff, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, it is impressive, isn't it? To an average mind like yours, anyway."

"I do live in Norfolk," Victor said again, "With my mother and my dog."

"You're father was killed last year," Sherlock stated.

Victor nodded and frowned.

"Is your mother currently in a relationship?"

"No, of course she isn't," Victor snapped, "It's only been a year since Dad's death."

"No need to get angry, Mr Trevor."

"Actually there is, _Mr Holmes_, because that is a very sensitive issue."

Sherlock shrugged, encouraging him to elaborate.

Victor shook his head. "She had an affair," he informed, "With a man named Hudson. I'm the only other person who knows about it. I had to keep it secret, for my mother and for the sake of Hudson's wife," He sighed, "I feel sorry for that woman. Her husband is a serial cheat and he's violent and… I loathe him, I really do."

"Hopefully one day he will be brought to justice."

"Yeah, hopefully," said Victor, and then he looked at Sherlock with furrowed brows, "Why am I telling _you_ all of this? We've only just met."

"I'd have deduced it at some point anyway," Sherlock said nonchalantly, "It's better to get it out of the way now."

"You're strange, Holmes, very strange, and I don't expect I'm going to get used to that quickly."

* * *

**I wonder how many people know who Victor Trevor is... If you don't, go and read _the adventure of the Gloria Scott_! Sherlock Holmes stories in general are amazing, and I'm sure you'll like that one.**

**Hudson is a character in Gloria Scott... but... is he more than that? ;)**

**I'll leave you pondering. Thank you for reading chaps :)**

**Heaven xxxx :D**


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